


Exulansis Liberosis

by TiaLewise



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!, Yu-Gi-Oh! - All Media Types, Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst with a Happy Ending, Because I am incapable of writing sad endings, Blood and Injury, Body Dysmorphia, Character Deaths of Adults and Children (not main characters), Depression, Dissociation, Established Deathshipping, Everybody's happy in the end, Everyone Is Gay, Everyone Needs A Hug, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Foreshadowing, I only torture the boys a little bit, In Media Res, Later Citronshipping, M/M, Mild Blindshipping, Occult Dabblings, Please Don't Hate Me, Post-Canon, Recovery, Redemption, Thiefshipping, mental health
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-07
Updated: 2018-09-07
Packaged: 2019-06-23 14:04:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 31
Words: 59,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15607893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TiaLewise/pseuds/TiaLewise
Summary: Trapped in an endless cycle of self-loathing and depression, Bakura has sunk lower than he’ll ever be able to pull himself out of alone. Malik’s been out of the picture, but now he’s back in Domino and ready to kick his old friend’s ass into gear, or so he’d hoped. Tough love and a few kisses just won't cut it here...and as the shadows of the past beckon, the “Sennen no Rokunin” step into the unknown to retrieve Bakura’s soul before he is lost to the world forever.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> What a privilege it has been to write for this amazing project! This is my first time taking part in a big bang, and honestly, it just feels like we've all been brought together so beautifully in our sense of community and harmony. Thank you to the admins for organising everything, and thank you to all the friends I have made across our nerdy journey.
> 
> Artwork for this story has been kindly produced by **Ariasune** ( _AO3_ _,Tumblr_ ) and **Shadow-chan93** ( _AO3_ _,Tumblr_ ). Please show your support for them - they both did wonderful jobs and I am so grateful to them for the time and effort they have put into our collaboration.

* * *

Malik barrelled through the apartment, refusing to acknowledge the burning pain in his shoulder. The front door hung open awkwardly, the worn wood dented from Malik’s repeated slams, its lock shattered. He didn’t even stop to close it, to prevent anyone else from peering in; he had to find Bakura.

_“Habibi!_ Where are you?!”

The party had been well and truly in a panic even before the rift closed, but Bakura had gone from numb to hyper to flat-out derealised in a matter of seconds before bolting.

_Not in the living room –_

Malik had had to leave a hysterical Kek with Yugi and Atem while he tracked down his dissociating lover. The whole situation was a nightmare incarnate.

_Not in the kitchen - a knife was missing from the block -_

“Bakura!”

_Only one room left –_

“Suffer! Bleed! Die!” came a shout that, despite being rough with heart-wrenching emotion, made Malik cry out in relief.

The door to the bathroom was locked. There was no use hammering, Bakura wasn’t likely to open it. Instead, Malik dropped to his knees and pressed his eye up to the tiny gap between the door and the ground. Inside, he could just about see Bakura’s battered Converse up against the sink, but that was all. “Don’t do this, Bakura!”

“I’m going to kill him!”

“No! I know you're scared, but you won't bring Ryou back this way!” Malik’s voice cracked a little, his chest tightening. “Bakura, please…don’t do this.”

Several fat, shining drops of scarlet blood fell to the floor. Malik heard Bakura’s breathing grow unsteady, quick, restless. “I’ve got to. You can’t stop me.”

“Please come out. Please. Let’s talk about this.”

“I can’t.”

Malik couldn’t tear his gaze away from the blood that continued to fall, puddling around Bakura's feet. “Bakura, baby…please."

Something seemed to snap in Bakura’s state of mind, and the violence in his voice dropped like dead weight. When he next spoke, it was breathy and filled with terror.

"Ryou is gone because of me!"

"This wasn't your fault!"

"If we hadn't gone on this damn stupid fucking fetch quest, this never would have happened!"

"We knew there would be danger when we stepped in there, Bakura. We all accepted that." Malik pressed his forehead to the worn carpet, as if prostrating himself before a noble lord, but all that was before him was a beaten-up door, and a spreading puddle of blood. "Ryou sacrificed himself so that we could be safe. Don't let that be in vain. We need to regroup and get back in there, so we can kick the ass of the son of a bitch that forced Ryou's hand, but we can't do it without you and Diabound." 

Tears welled up in Malik's eyes, burning pools of water that he tried to blink back without success. _"Ya hayati..._ I love you. Come out...please. We can't lose you too."

_Drip._

_Drip._

_Drip._

The sound of blood hitting the floor was the only reply for several long seconds. Bakura's breathing hitched, and trembled, then there was a clatter of steel on porcelain, and the bathroom door was flung open with a mighty _slam._ Malik gazed up into Bakura's face, seeing the ragged lacerations and the blood staining his deathly white skin, and at once he understood. Without the energy to stand, he clutched at the leg of Bakura's jeans and broke down into grief-stricken wails.

"You idiot, you damn fucking idiot! You scared me so much!"

Warm arms wrapped around his shoulders, and hot droplets of liquid slid through his hair. Bakura's blood, Bakura's tears, Malik didn't give a damn. He closed his eyes and nestled into Bakura, trying to convey without words just how much the former thief meant to him. Actions over words - that always was Bakura's way.

"What have you done to me?" Bakura whispered. "I was never this soft until I met you. Dammit, Ishtar, I really do hate you."

**_Artwork by Shadow-chan93._ **


	2. Chapter 2

Sometimes the fog still clouded his mind, and the world around him. Sometimes, he yearned to shut down, to lose the ability to speak and block out his surroundings when it all got too much. But he was getting better…gradually, he was getting better.

The fresh start was going to be a good one, Malik just knew it. The last few years had been hard, but he was on the right track now, and Domino had always been the place in his heart. Egypt harboured too many traumatic memories, and Japan wasn’t much better, but the latter had been where he’d started to piece his life together…

…That is, until the confusion.

He’d blamed Ryou and Yugi at first, ever the type to deny his own involvement, barely able to regulate his mental health without his dark side to do it for him. But that was then, and this was now, and Malik wasn’t going to let the past get to him anymore. He’d gotten Isis and Rishid’s blessings, packed up what little he owned, and bought a one-way plane ticket to Tokyo before hiring a car and speeding towards Domino.

Now, he was curled up in a comfortable armchair, half-asleep, simply _enjoying_ his existence. Never had he felt so at peace with the world.

“Malik…it’s okay to go to bed if you’re tired,” came a soft, polite voice from somewhere just above Malik’s head, and he glanced up with an amused smile. Ryou hovered over him, his ever-present mug of hot tea in his hands. Ryou had happily opened his home to Malik for as long as he needed it. He would find his own place eventually, but there really was no rush as far as either of them were concerned.

Malik pushed himself a little more upright. “Sorry, Ryou,” he laughed. “Just…damn, this chair is comfy.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Ryou echoed Malik’s laugh as he settled down on the nearby sofa, cradling his mug to his chest. “Kek’s pretty much claimed that chair as his own by now, so count yourself lucky he’s at work. Really, though, don’t worry about the hour. You must still be pretty jet-lagged. Please don’t stay up on my account.”

Ryou had barely changed at all in the seven years since the Ceremonial Duel, ever the sweet, polite, unashamed gaming nerd. His face was sharper now, more angular, but his tumbling white mane of hair, plump cheeks, and twinkling brown eyes ever lingered, casting a soft, delicate youthfulness across his deceptive twenty-five years.

“I’m fine, honestly,” Malik insisted.

“Would some caffeine perk you up a bit?”

“You bet.”

Ryou smiled gently. “I’ll make you another coffee.”

“Thanks, honey.”

Ryou hopped up from the sofa, disappearing into the kitchen and returning a few minutes later with a large mug of black coffee. “So,” he said as he passed the mug to Malik, “how do you feel about…you know…being back around all of us now? I know it was really hard for you.”

Malik shook his head. “It wasn’t your fault,” he replied. “None of us expected the Cube to react with your Ouija board, and it wasn’t like you were _attempting_ to yank anybody out of the afterlife, so…”

“I think we all got the shock of our lives that day, huh?”

“You can say that again.”

“Look, Malik…I know it wasn’t all down to us, but…” Ryou sighed sadly. “I’m so, so, sorry. I never imagined that this would happen, and when I heard you’d checked yourself into a psych facility afterwards, I just couldn’t stop worrying about you. Yugi was pretty much the same. We were absolute wrecks.”

“It’s okay, honey…Ryou, it’s okay, really.” Malik put his mug down and hopped off the sofa and into Ryou’s lap. They were intimate enough as friends that they cared little for personal space, and Ryou welcomed the gesture by burying his head against Malik’s shoulder and holding his hips gently. “You have to remember,” Malik said, “that my fucked-up mental health was a problem long before any of this happened. _None_ of this was your fault, okay?”

Ryou gazed up at Malik. “I wish I could take it all back,” he whispered. “Take it all back, like it never happened, so I never had to see you in that much pain ever again.”

“Don’t be silly. You and Kek love each other. You’d honestly toss him back to the Shadows, just so I wouldn’t freak out?”

“Well, no, but I – ”

“Ryou…stop.” Malik kissed Ryou’s brow. “Look, there are ups and downs to everything. I went a bit crazy, but you got a great boyfriend out of all this, and Yugi’s got his best friend back, so it worked out pretty well.”

“You’re forgetting about Bakura.”

Malik paused, frowning. He slid off Ryou’s lap and back into his armchair, sipping his coffee. He hadn’t forgotten Bakura, but broaching the subject of his former partner in crime was something he had been struggling with ever since Kek told him about his condition. Kek had dropped Malik’s phone number off at Bakura’s place the day Malik arrived in Domino, but nobody had heard anything from him…not that Malik had expected much. He knew Bakura, knew his pride and his stubbornness. There was no way he was going to own up to wanting to see his old friend again.

 


	3. Chapter 3

A swaddle of blankets and oversized loungewear occupied the beaten-up, second hand sofa, intent on nursing off a thumping hangover and failing rather spectacularly.

Every day panned out the same for Bakura. After rolling out of bed – or off the sofa, depending on where he’d crashed the night before – somewhere near midday, he would clear his head with copious amounts of coffee, then sit down in front of his laptop to work till evening. After that, it was video games and drinking himself into a stupor in preparation for the next day.

Wake. Work. Drink. Sleep. Rinse and repeat. Day in, day out. 

Sometimes his “schedule” was broken by the odd visitor, but he’d quickly learned that leaving the curtains drawn and the lights off kept most people away.

However, the exception to that rule currently hammered on his front door while yelling curses of an increasingly threatening tone. Hence, failing at giving his aforementioned hangover the boot.

Rubbing his sore head, Bakura slammed his laptop screen down and hauled himself to his feet. Throwing the door open, the frustrated noise that rumbled from Bakura’s throat was reminiscent of an angry bitch defending her pups.

"Can you fucking not, Kek? Seriously?!”

“You never open the door otherwise.” Kek shoved Bakura aside and strolled into the tiny apartment as if he owned the place. A bulging plastic bag swung from the crook of his arm, and he set it down on the kitchen counter, starting to pull various items out. “Has your shower even _seen_ you in the last week? You look like hell.”

Bakura didn’t answer, merely folded his arms and glowered venomously at Kek, hating him.

Malik’s former shadow, at a good six feet six, towered over Bakura’s modest size of over a foot shorter. With his broader nose, thinner lips and darker eyes, he could have passed for a relative of Malik’s, but it was clear that this body was Kek’s, and Kek’s alone. He had taken to the adjustment to life remarkably better than Bakura - so much so that it was hard to believe he had once literally flayed the skin off his own father.

Bakura would have been envious of the multitude of positive change within Kek, had he been able to muster up the motivation. Instead, he continued to scowl at Kek as he stocked up Bakura’s fridge and cupboards.

"Are you done?” Bakura finally hissed, fed up. “You do realise I’m on the clock, don’t you? I have work to do!”

Kek rolled his eyes. “I know, right? How dare Ryou be afraid you’ll starve to death! Jeez, Bakura. It’s not like I ever actually _want_ to come over to your filthy hell-hole, but Ryou’s too nice for his own good. For some reason, he’s still maintaining that _someone_ needs to keep an eye on you, you hopeless drunk.”

“Fuck. You.”

"Take a shower, clean this place up, and I swear to Anubis, run a vacuum around once in a while or I _will_ send Ryou over in full housemaid regalia. That one doesn’t tend to leave our bedroom, so you’d better be honoured.” Kek flashed a wicked smirk at Bakura, enjoying how easy it was to rile him up.

"Get the fuck out of my apartment, Kek, before I find some way to send your sorry ass back to the Shadows," Bakura growled. Not that the thought of his former host in stockings and a frilly apron was at all unappealing, but Bakura was not in the mood to humour Kek.

“Yeah, yeah.” Kek slipped the bag back onto his arm and breezed past Bakura. His hand rested on the front door handle when something appeared to stir in his memory. “Oh! Before I forget…got something else for you.”

“What now?!” Bakura exploded.

 _"Bismillah!_ Chill out for once in your life, Bakura." Kek dug into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. He held it out to Bakura, who eyed it warily. “It’s only a fucking phone number, you dork,” Kek muttered. “Just take it already.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Bakura took it. “I’m not in the mood for you to be setting me up on some stupid date, so it had better not be – ”

"It’s Malik’s.”

A flicker of positive emotion lit up Bakura’s face, but it was fleeting, his features rapidly settling back into their comfortable scowl. “Why?” he asked, a single syllable of uncertainty.

“He’s back in Domino.”

“Oh? Finally out of the loony bin, is he?”

Kek’s expression hardened and his hands flexed as if itching to throw a punch. After a few deep breaths, he turned back to the door. “Call him.”

“I…”

“Don’t screw this up, Bakura.” With that final warning, Kek opened the door and walked out into the dingy hallway of the apartment building.

Bakura watched him go, the paper with Malik’s number clenched tightly in his hand. He barely noticed how he trembled.

_Malik…dammit, I’ve missed you, you stupid idiot._

 

 

**_Artwork by Ariasune._ **


	4. Chapter 4

Night rolled around quickly enough, but when it came down to it, Malik couldn’t sleep at all. The jet lag had worn off a little now, but his mind still buzzed, alive and curious like so many droves of bees. 

He found himself thinking, even in their fractured snippets, about the confusion...

_____It feels like forever since...no, I guess I...maybe I've just shut it out entirely._ Malik rolled over and squinted at the luminescent numbers on the clock near his head.  _Unfortunate events follow those who danced with the Shadows...none of us are the exception to that rule._

Malik had been present, two years ago, when Ryou and Yugi accidentally pulled Bakura, Kek, and Atem from whatever otherworldly plains had claimed them. The resulting dissociative fugue left Malik remembering little of what happened during that time, but clearer than anything, he could recall the panic above him from his friends...

_"He's not responding to me, Ryou!"_

_"Hang on, just calm down a moment..."_

_Dimly he was aware of Yugi crouching beside him, and Ryou pacing the room, but nothing in that moment could have made Malik capable of looking up or speaking._

_That's when a deep-set scowl, framed by a white cloud of hair, floated into his vision. Bakura grabbed Malik's chin and forced his face level with his own, staring a moment with an expression that could only be described, even in his shutdown state, as pure disgust._

_“The pathetic little narcissist just wants attention. Leave him be.”_

Bakura had said many things to Malik in their short time together, though never anything as hurtful as that. Malik knew his mental health was completely shot, and he had done all he could over the years to manage it, so for Bakura to claim that he was breaking down purely to be noticed…it stung like a slap to the face.

_Bakura is the one that could be accused of wanting attention now._ Malik’s fingers toyed idly with a corner of the blanket. _Something is wrong, and he’s not letting anyone close enough to be able to help him._

_I don’t think I can just lie here and wait for him to come to me. It’s not going to happen._

The floorboards creaked slightly under Malik’s weight as he swung himself out of bed. He dressed quickly, not bothering to make himself look presentable, and went downstairs, following the faint sounds of video games and muttered swearing.

He found Kek curled up under a blanket on the sofa, balancing a can of energy drink on his knee and playing _Final Fantasy IX_ on Ryou’s old PlayStation. He looked so at ease with the world that Malik had to remind himself, for the millionth time, that this was real, that Kek was real, a human, with his own body and his own life that didn’t involve slaughtering people or challenging them to Shadow Games.

“Not tired, _akhun?”_ Kek asked, without looking at Malik. His nose scrunched up in a little frown as he tapped with rapid-fire speed on the controller, moving a moustachioed frog towards a set of weights.

Malik couldn’t help but smile at the affectionate use of his native tongue. Kek rarely spoke Arabic, and he wasn’t _exactly_ his brother, but being called as such was heart-warming, a sign that Kek really was trying his best to be everything Malik had lacked from his former alter in the past.

“I’m exhausted, but I can’t sleep,” Malik told him. “I’ve decided to go and see Bakura.”

Kek’s frown deepened. He paused the game and put the controller aside, motioning for Malik to sit down on the sofa. “You don’t think it’s better to see if he gets in touch?" he asked, and Malik shook his head. “About time someone properly tries to knock some sense into the stupid bastard, I guess," Kek shrugged. "Are you driving? I can take you if you want.”

Malik had to mentally slap himself again at the thought of Kek passing his driving test without murdering the examiner. “Nah, I know where I’m going. I think I’d prefer the walk, anyway.”

“Text me when you arrive, okay?”

“I will. Thanks, _akhun.”_

Kek grinned, pleased. A light blush darkened his copper cheeks. “Yeah, yeah. Get going, pipsqueak.”

Malik gave Kek’s shoulder a light punch in farewell, and Kek chuckled, going back to his game. A quick rummage around later for his shoes and jacket, and Malik was traipsing down the dimly lit street, occasionally glancing about warily. This area of Domino had a reputation for being a little rough, and Malik had a switchblade in the inside pocket of his jacket, but he didn’t exactly fancy needing to pull it out anytime soon.

A bitter chill hung in the night air, the air too bracing and the wind too sharp. It took a good forty minutes to walk to the opposite side of the city where Bakura lived, and more than once Malik regretted not taking Kek up on his offer to drive him over. He tugged his jacket a little tighter around himself and scowled, pushing through the discomfort.

Eventually Malik stood in front of a small apartment building. Long, swaying rows of grass grew wild either side of the path to the front door, and when Malik tried the door itself, he found it swung inwards of its own accord with a teeth-clenching screech. _Jeez, why would he_ choose _to live here? What a complete dump._

Malik stepped into the main hallway and wrinkled his nose at the smell of damp and mildew hanging thickly in the air. He double-checked his messages on his phone for the door number that Kek had sent him, and sent a quick text to let Kek know he’d arrived. Barely ten seconds later, he received a “thumbs up,” and Malik tucked his phone away as he used his free hand to knock on Bakura’s front door.

No response.

At two in the morning, that was to be expected for most people, but Bakura wasn’t most people, and Malik knew he’d still be up. Ryou had warned him of Bakura’s habit of ignoring visitors, but Malik wasn’t one to take ignorance lying down. He continued to pound on the door, his scowl growing deeper with each passing second.

Malik’s temper flared. “Right, you wanna play games with me?” he growled, spinning on his heel and stalking away. “It is _on,_ fuckface.”

Bakura lived on the ground floor, and it was easy enough to walk round the side of the building and know which of the windows belonged to his apartment. Malik rattled and prodded the frames of the nearest one, looking for any weak spots in the peeling wood, when the next window along caught his eye. To his amused delight, it was slightly open, and pulled out further when Malik tested it. He pulled his jacket off, tied the worn faux-leather round his waist, and hoisted himself upwards and through the tight opening the window afforded him.

It was a bit of a squeeze, despite Malik’s slender build, but with some wriggling, he slid through and –

…crash-landed face-first into the kitchen sink.

_Well, what a glorious start to our reunion this is going to be._

 


	5. Chapter 5

Making a grand entrance usually held vital importance to Malik, but toppling into an overflowing sink and receiving a face-full of water in the process hadn’t been high up on his agenda. Amidst the wetness coating his skin and hair, he became aware of iron-scented warmth dripping down his cheek, a direct result of the smashed crockery beneath him. To make matters worse, he couldn’t see a thing in his right eye.

_God fucking dammit, how did I manage to lose_ one _contact lens?_

If the sound of a potential burglar entering the apartment didn’t pique Bakura’s interest, he didn’t know what would. True to thought, a loud yell rang out from the next room.

“I swear to fucking god, Kek, if that’s you, I am going to garrotte you with Ryou’s washing line and string your guts up on it!”

Malik had to wonder how many times Kek had forced his way into Bakura’s living space for him to automatically assume the source of all the clamour. He clambered out of the sink, and brushed his wet hair back from his face, and walked towards the doorway. “Close, but not quite.”

A slight pause. Then -

“Ishtar, what the bloody hell were you doing climbing through my window?”

“You wouldn’t answer the door.”

“A sane person would take that to mean I don’t want anyone in here.”

Malik ignored the pointed quip. He reached the living room and closed his blurry right eye, squinting with the other. The room might as well have been pitch-black for all the good it did; he couldn't see Bakura anywhere. Malik had mostly gotten over his initiation-borne fear of darkness, but the gloom still pressed upon him uncomfortably for reasons completely unrelated to the scars on his back. “Where are you?”

“Go _away,_ Malik.”

“Hell, no. Fucking show yourself, I’m half-blind right now.”

A low groan resounded from somewhere near the floor, and a lamp flickered on in the corner, bathing the room in soft, red-hued light. Able to take in his surroundings at last, Malik peered around and tried to ignore the itching discomfort in his lens-less eye.

What he saw left him aghast, to say the least. Bakura clearly didn’t care for being house-proud, and could only be described as living in chaos. Dust coated every surface, and various items of dirty crockery littered the low table in the middle of the tiny room, interspersed with bottles of spirits in varying degrees of emptiness. The switched-on lamp in question sat on a corner table beside an old sofa, and on the floor, leaning back against said sofa, emerged a dull mass of limbs and tangled hair that vaguely resembled Malik’s old friend.

_Oh, Bakura…what happened to you?_

He’d been warned that Bakura had fallen on hard times, but he’d never imagined it could be _this_ bad. He was an utter mess. Listless brown eyes, set deep in a gaunt face and framed by locks of untamed platinum, glared up at Malik. Dark circles shadowed the deadened orbs, and even with his poor vision, Malik shivered as Bakura's gaze burned through to his very soul.

Seeing Bakura in such a state had all sorts of odd emotions thundering through Malik’s veins, but before he could rush over and sweep him into his arms, his mouth got the better of him.

“What the hell, Bakura? You’re too proud for shit like this. The fuck is wrong with you?!”

“Fuck you. Barging in here and laying into me like I even give half a shit.” A slur twisted Bakura’s words, beset with exhaustion, world-weariness, and a touch of booze-induced drowsiness. "Didn't the radio silence on my end tell you idiots anything? I don't want to see you, Ishtar."

"Well, tough shit," Malik shrugged. "I didn't really believe how much of a fuck-up you'd become, but I had to come see it for myself."

Bakura bristled with anger, a dangerous gleam flashing in his eyes. “I'm sure you've seen enough now, so...dammit, quit _squinting_ at me like that!”

“Sorry,” Malik murmured, rubbing his eye. “I dropped a lens in your sink. I can barely see.”

Bakura raised an eyebrow. “Since when do you wear lenses?”

“Since I realised that I saw better through the eyes of my Ghouls than I did through my own – look, can we not talk about this right now?” Malik sat on the sofa, ignoring Bakura’s venom-soaked glare. Resigning himself to an evening of magnified eyes, Malik removed his remaining lens and flicked it into the nearest mug he could focus on, before reaching into his pocket for the case that held his glasses.

Bakura burst out laughing when Malik opened the case and slipped the slim, black frames on. “You look ridiculous.”

“Says the alcoholic sprawled out on the floor," Malik snapped. "Why are you even sat down there?”

“I had a fight with the floor, and the floor won.” Bakura started flicking through his phone absently, playing a game. “Are you done here?”

“Fuck you, Bakura. Like hell I’m done.”

Bakura grunted in acknowledgement. “Figures.” His eyes remained firmly on his phone as he continued to play his game.

Malik would get little else out of his old friend by this point and stood up to find the bathroom. It proved to be just as untidy as the rest of the apartment; Malik’s brow furrowed at the overflowing laundry basket and the thick layer of dust under his feet. “Bakura, why is there no mirror in your bathroom?” Malik called out.

“Should there be?”

“There’s a big mark over the sink where a mirror _used_ to be.”

“Bite me, Ishtar.”

Malik settled for using his phone camera, snapping a picture and looking at that instead. The cut wasn’t as bad as he thought, and he rinsed it off carefully, then splashed water over the rest of his face and towelled his hair as dry as he could get it. He didn’t feel any cleaner, but it was better than old dishwater covering him.

In the two minutes it had taken for Malik to clean himself up and return to the living room, Bakura had fallen asleep with his head on his knees, phone still shining brightly in his hand. Malik knelt beside him, reaching out to turn the phone screen off. The smell of alcohol and general neglect hung heavy around Bakura, the kind that spoke volumes about how little one cared for themselves anymore. Malik gently stroked Bakura's wild mop of hair, wishing he knew what to do for him.

The tell-tale headache of frustration and anger began to build within him, but…

_I understand, I guess…how easy it is to sink into the blackness of despair._

The trouble was that Bakura seemingly had no intention of pulling himself out. Ryou had tried, Kek had tried, but all their attempts had been met with staunch disinterest. Malik, however, had learned a thing or two from Yugi, and he wasn’t ever one to back down from a challenge. He slid an arm round Bakura’s back and another under his knees, hauling him, with some difficulty, into a position where he could manoeuvre him. Malik’s scarred back screamed in protest, seizing up in response to the intense strain being placed on it, but Malik forced himself to breathe heavily through it, until Bakura had been safely deposited onto the sofa.

_He’s so light…jeez, how much weight has he lost since Battle City?_

Bakura didn’t stir, even when Malik started gathering up the multitude of ceramic and glass from the table, creating an almighty racket in the process. _Well and truly out for the count._

He didn’t know quite _why_ he had decided to tidy Bakura’s apartment at three in the morning, but the place was filthy, and he knew Bakura wasn’t likely to handle it himself. At the very least, he deserved to wake up to a nice environment. Malik cleared away the broken crockery from the sink, washed the remaining lot, then swept, dusted, sprayed and mopped, even found a geriatric-looking vacuum cleaner and ran it round the living room. Bakura didn’t so much as move his head, despite the roar of the vacuum a few feet away, though his snores could have put him in the running for a gold medal against the old banger.

Malik didn’t go near Bakura’s bedroom; something told him he'd be massively overstepping his already mouldering boundaries. _I’m  probably doing enough to invade Bakura’s personal space and privacy as it is, and…_

He winced, rolling his sore shoulders. _Damn, I’m so tired..._

His muscles ached, his back felt tight and stiff, and that armchair practically begged to be sat in…Malik dropped onto the soft cushions and closed his eyes, meaning to rest for just a moment…

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **  
> _Slipping in a content warning here for vomiting at the beginning of the chapter._  
>  **

* * *

Bakura awoke to an unpleasant sensation in his throat, like thousands of needles he’d been forced to swallow, and a distinct churning in his stomach that could only mean one thing - he’d overdone it on the booze again. 

_Fuck, fuck, fuck - !_

He jumped off the sofa, clapped a hand over his mouth as the first involuntary retch doubled him over, and stumbled to the bathroom. He slumped against the toilet and heaved; nothing much came up in the end, but the telltale nasty, sour taste in his mouth lingered afterwards. A trembling hand fumbled blindly to flush the toilet, then he hauled himself upright and leaned against the sink to rinse his mouth out and brush his teeth.

 _Hang on a sec…_ Bakura glanced around the room, frowning as he brushed. He could have sworn that the last time his shower shone like polished gemstone, it had been when he’d moved in, and that must have been almost a year ago now. _Did I clean up last night? I don’t remember doing that…_

“Bakura? Are you okay?”

The soft call from outside the bathroom door nearly made Bakura jump out of his skin in shock, and with that, the memories of the previous night flooded back. The _nerve_ of him, to still be here!

Bakura threw his toothbrush into the sink and flung the door open, ready to snarl a multitude of threats in Malik’s face -

Or that’s what would have happened, had a mug of dark, heavenly goodness not appeared suddenly under his nose. Bakura stopped mid-snarl and jerked his head back, dark eyes scrutinising Malik warily. The young Egyptian looked as tired as Bakura felt, but the earnestness in his gaze made even Bakura’s hardened heart soften a little. Damn it, Malik had always been too pretty for his own good.

Malik continued to hold the mug out with a small attempt at a smile. “I, ah…heard you throwing up, but I didn’t really know what to do. Coffee usually makes me feel better, so…” Malik shook his head, smile dropping into a blush and a frown. “I mean…you don’t have to drink it. I just thought maybe – ”

Bakura blinked, his surprise doubling. Malik stuttering and stumbling over his words, like Ryou often did when he was nervous, took him aback completely. It was weird, and he didn’t like it; it was clear that Malik wasn’t used to feeling like he needed to care for someone.

With cat-like reflexes that even a throbbing hangover couldn’t dull, Bakura snatched the mug from Malik’s grasp and cradled it to his chest. The soothing warmth sank into his skin, a reminder that not everything in his life had to be cold and dark. “What are you still doing here?” he demanded of Malik. “Don’t you have better things to do than bother me?”

“Not really,” Malik shrugged. “I mean, I cleaned your apartment. That should probably tell you I have way too much time on my hands.”

“Fuck you, Ishtar, don’t touch my stuff.”

“Kura, around 80% of “your stuff” appears to be vodka.”

“Again, fuck you.” Bakura pinched the bridge of his nose. “And don’t even try that sappy nickname with me. That’s what Ryou does when he wants something from me.”

“What could Ryou possibly ever want from you? Look at the state of you!” Malik folded his arms and glared. “You of all people, drowning yourself in booze and shutting out everyone who ever tries to care for you. You’re breaking Ryou’s heart, pissing Kek off, and making Yugi go out of his mind with guilt. Atem at least doesn’t seem to give a shit about you, and I wish I didn’t, too, but I’m not having it, you fucked-up waste of space.”

Malik’s voice rose in his passion, cheeks flushing with anger. “I am not going to stand by and watch you throw your life away like this, do you hear me?” he yelled. “It’s not fair!”

Once upon a time, Bakura would have exploded with rage, possibly flung his mug at the wall, screamed in Malik’s face that nobody knew the concept of unfairness better than Bakura did...but he’d long since lost any will to fight his corner, so instead, he just grunted, pushed Malik aside, and trailed to the sofa before collapsing on it and curling up, sipping his coffee. Malik stared after him, his wide eyes magnified by the ridiculous glasses he wore. 

“Where are you staying?” Bakura asked. His eyes trained firmly onto his mug with a resolve to steer well clear of Malik.

“At Ryou and Kek’s place for the time being.” Malik moved a little closer, eyebrows raised. “Why? You’re not inviting me to stay here, are you?”

Bakura snorted. “Fuck, no. I don’t want some kid running around under my nose all the time.”

“Bakura, I’m twenty-five, not ten.”

“Has it really been that long?”

“You’d probably have noticed if you hadn’t become such a fucking drunk.”

Malik’s words should have stung. They should have been slapping some sense into Bakura and making him realise there was more to life than wallowing in his own guilt and self-pity; this he knew for a fact, he wasn’t ignorant to psychology. What a shame, then, that he just didn’t give enough of a fuck to care.

Bakura turned away from Malik completely. The act was childish, but he didn’t feel up to indulging his old friend's ridiculous attempt at altruism. “Feel free to come back when I’m not hungover as hell, Ishtar, but I just don’t want to deal with you right now, okay?”

“Bitch, you’re always hungover.”

“So see you never, then.”

“You’re a piece of work, you know that?”

“When have I ever not been? Now, are you done? Why don't you saunter off back to Ryou's and put some contacts in - you don't suit the four-eyed look."

That was enough for Malik’s jaw to tighten considerably, and Bakura grinned into his coffee, knowing he’d won. "Hmph, say it like you mean it, Bakura," Malik sniffed.

"Sure thing!" Bakura looked up, a false, sickly-sweet tone creeping into his voice. "In fact, I'll even spell it out for you, word by word - _I'm. Fucking. Sick. Of. Looking. At. Your. Stupid. Face!_ There, wasn't that easy to understand?"

Malik's cheeks flushed with obvious fury. With no more words, he turned on his heel, flipped the latch on the front door, and marched out, letting the door slam behind him.

 _Good fucking morning to you too!_ Bakura drained the rest of his coffee and dropped the empty mug to the floor before lying back down. Malik was a pain in the ass, but he could deal with that later…after he’d caught another few hours of sleep.

 


	7. Chapter 7

“I don’t think I’ve ever been so pissed off at someone in my entire life!” Malik groaned, dropping his forehead dramatically to the table with a _thump._

It had been a week after Malik had stormed out of Bakura’s apartment, and, as had been expected, there had been radio silence on Bakura’s end. Malik had gone over to the Kame Game Shop to say hi to Yugi and Atem, and somehow he’d ended up being dragged into a tag duel, him and Yugi vs Ryou –Yugi had called him to come over – and Atem. Even with Yugi on Malik’s side, having Atem as an opponent meant he was currently getting well and truly steamrollered. With nothing but Bakura on his mind, it was impossible to concentrate on the game.

Yugi patted Malik’s hand, his array of silver bangles jangling merrily. “Well, you tried, so at least you can say that,” he said. “Mind you…we’ve all tried.”

  
“I haven’t,” Atem sniffed, placing two cards face-down. “What’s the point?”

  
_“Mou hitori no boku,_ I think Malik needs a little reassurance here that it isn’t his fault.”

  
“My apologies, _aibou._ It’s…difficult to muster up any motivation where Bakura is concerned. Ah, my turn’s over. Your move, Malik.”

  
Malik drew a card, shook his head, and went to attack Atem’s Dark Magician with his Masked Beast Des Gardius, but Atem grinned, flipping up a Trap card, Negate Attack. Malik swore and growled, displeased. “God dammit, Atem. I end my turn.”

  
“Easy, Malik,” Atem said. “It’s only a game, after all, and you’ve played some great moves so far. I’m impressed.” The former Pharaoh leaned back in his chair, relaxed and confident as always. Being back in the world of the living suited him immensely, and he wore his love of life like a regal crown, befitting of his status – though in his loose, brightly coloured linens, and with his hair twisted into dense dreadlocks, he looked less like a king and more like a regular at Woodstock.

  
“Yeah!” Yugi agreed, smiling gratefully at his Egyptian counterpart. “You’ve really come a long way, Malik. You should be proud.”

  
“Really?”

  
“Oh, yeah. You weren’t all that confident just a few years ago, but now you’re kicking ass.”

  
That made Malik smile. “Aw, thanks, Yugi.”

  
“My turn.” Ryou drew a card and fanned out his hand, eyeing them with a slight frown creasing his delicate features. “Hmmm…”

  
“What are you thinking, Ryou?” Atem asked.

  
Ryou grinned, suddenly pleased. “I’m thinking that I need to banish this…and this…and this,” – he removed three Fiend monsters from their Graveyard, - “to summon Dark Necrofear in face-up defence mode. She has 2,800 defence points, so I should be safe for a while. Okay, I’ll end my turn now.”

  
“Oh, fuck this!” Malik groaned. “My attack points are higher at 3,300, but you’ll take control of Des Gardius if I attack her.”

  
Ryou batted his eyelashes across the table. “Oh goodness, did I throw a spanner in the works, Malik?”

  
It was Yugi’s turn, and he drew a card, Palladium Oracle Mahad. A wicked smirk spread across his face as he revealed it to his opponents, as per the card requirements. “Allow me to remove said spanner,” he purred, “by activating Enemy Controller,” - he flipped up a Spell card already on the field, – “and sacrificing my face-down Monster card,” - which turned out to be Gold Gadget, – “to take control of Dark Necrofear.”

  
“Son of a fuck!” Ryou cursed.

  
“In addition, I drew Palladium Oracle Mahad, which I can now Special Summon in attack mode.” Yugi did so, his smirk widening. “I also play the Spell card Book of Secret Arts to raise Palladium Oracle Mahad’s attack and defence points by 300 each. He now has 2,800 attack points, and if he battles a Dark-type Monster, that will double to 5,600. Atem, I attack your Dark Magician with Palladium Oracle Mahad, and then attack your Life Points directly with Des Gardius!”

  
Atem placed his cards on the table and chuckled. “You win, _aibou._ Well done indeed.”

  
Yugi blew him a kiss. “Never a dull duel with you, _mou hitori no boku.”_

  
“It’s a bit mean that you used one Mahad to defeat another Mahad,” Ryou laughed, “and sacrificed my beloved Dark Necrofear to do it! Why, Yugi, I’m hurt.”

  
“It was fucking brilliant,” Malik said, busy sorting all the cards back into whose belonged to whom. “Nice one, Yugi.”

  
They tidied the cards away and traipsed back onto the shop floor, as it was Atem’s turn to man the counter after grandpa Sugoroku. While Ryou chatted with Atem about the latest Monster World campaign they’d been building together, Malik and Yugi stepped away, under the pretence of inspecting a new box of Duel Monsters booster packs.

  
“You know,” Yugi said quietly, “I think you’re the only one who’s going to snap Bakura out of his depression. Please don’t give up. He needs someone who’ll always be there for him.”

  
“Surely Ryou is the perfect fit for that,” Malik murmured in response.

  
“Well, keep this between you and me, but I think Bakura feels guilty for a lot that Ryou can’t help him with.” Yugi dropped his voice further. “But you were his equal, his partner. He never did anything to you that you weren’t capable of fighting back just as hard with. So, in a way, he owes you nothing. He’s got a steady, even footing with you. And I think that would do more for him than he could ever imagine.”

  
Malik pondered this a moment. Bakura, the sardonic, cool, calculating former spirit, feeling guilty? Was that even possible?

He glanced over his shoulder, watching Atem and Ryou converse happily, before turning back to Yugi. “Kek does a lot of tough love with Bakura,” he said, “but that doesn’t seem to work. It’s probably the same thing I’d do with him by default, so I’m a little worried he’d just block me out as well.”

  
“Kek’s too much of an enabler,” Yugi shrugged, “and that’s Ryou’s influence, I think. Sure, he argues with Bakura and gives him an earful, but at the same time he’ll go shopping for him if he sees there’s no food in the house.”

  
_Well, damn._

  
Malik never thought of his former alter as enabling before, but again, it made sense. Yugi was completely spot-on with all his observations; he had to give the King of Games credit, his brain had space for more than just strategy and puzzles. Maybe it was all that growing he’d done over the last few years.

  
_Bakura’s…partner? We hadn’t even known each other all that long back then, but…there’s little else I could have used to describe us._

  
At that moment, a buzz in his pocket alerted him to a text message, and he fished his phone out of his pocket, expecting to see Isis or Rishid’s name flash up onscreen. Instead, there was just a number, and below that, a short message:

_Games later?_

  
Malik laughed as he typed out his response. How very like Bakura to simply pretend that their earlier interaction hadn’t happened at all.

_Sure. Your place or Ryou’s?_

  
_I’ll come to Ryou’s._

  
“Ryou, honey?” Malik called out over his shoulder, and Ryou glanced up with a smile at the affectionate name. “The wild Bakura has emerged from his hibernation, and is beginning to explore the outside world.”

  
Ryou’s mouth dropped. “He’s actually coming out?”

  
“Yep. Games night at yours?”

  
“Hell yes!” Ryou crowed, clasping his hands and jumping up and down in joy. “Oh, my goodness! This is wonderful! What did you _do_ to him?”

  
_Fell through his window, cleaned his apartment, gave him coffee and yelled a bit. Who’d have thought that was all it took?_

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_Content warnings for fragile mental health, calming and grounding._ **

* * *

Bakura uttered a deep, relaxed sigh as scalding hot water rained down over him. He’d forgotten how wonderful showering felt, especially when everything around him was so damn _clean._  The scents of lavender and frankincense drifted through the steamy air from his toiletries, scents Ryou had said were good for relaxing and letting go of past fears, but Bakura liked them because they weren’t stereotypically “male” smelling. Fuck gender conformity, Bakura did what he wanted, and today he wanted to smell like an Egyptian marketplace.

The day had been a stable one, so he'd spent the majority of the afternoon tidying the apartment and organising his junk. Contrary to popular belief, those good days did happen…sometimes. Not often, but it was those times that Bakura felt motivated to leave the house, fob his work off for the day, spend time with the people that could actually tolerate him for more than five seconds at a time.

But it wasn’t Malik’s influence…nope, he had absolutely nothing to do with the low, cheery humming now emanating from Bakura as he scrubbed shampoo through his hair. The silly boy just happened to catch Bakura at a point where he was starting to lift himself up a little; the thought of spending the evening with Malik was like an itch he couldn’t scratch – annoying and a massive distraction.

And yet…Bakura was finding himself looking forward to seeing him again, despite having had to buy more plates as a result of Malik’s little stunt with the window. Rolling his eyes at the memory, Bakura reached round the shower curtain for the glass of vodka sitting on the side of the sink, took a sip, and set it back down so he could rinse his hair.

A few minutes later saw him out of the shower, tapping his fingers on the handle of a razor as he ran his free hand over the rough stubble shadowing his jaw, debating if it was worth attempting to shave. With no mirrors in his apartment, that was usually tricky at best. He settled for carefully feeling his way around his cheeks and jawline with one hand, and tentatively dragging the razor with the other. 

Shaving went ahead easily enough, but finding clean clothes afterwards ended up being a completely different story; Bakura didn’t so much as own a wardrobe than a floordrobe, and clean or dirty, everything piled onto the worn and threadbare carpet in his bedroom. Tidying up was fine, but Bakura drew the line at folding and putting away laundry. Eventually he pulled out a black shirt and blue jeans that looked as though they might have been recently washed, and threw them on, then tied his damp hair back in a ponytail to avoid the nightmare of having to brush out all the tangles.

_Why the fuck am I making so much of an effort?_  Bakura scowled as he took another sip from his glass. _It’s not like any of them are going to care what I look like._

Well, no…that was a lie. Ryou would fuss around him if he turned up in his usual dragged-backwards-through-a-hedge look, and Kek would probably throw a brush at his head. And Malik? Bakura was trying not to think too much about Malik at present, and failing dismally - there had been an inordinate amount of lavender eyes haunting his dreams as of late.

His cheeriness starting to fade as quickly as it had come on, Bakura threw the rest of the vodka down his throat and tossed the empty glass onto his bed, before grabbing his jacket from the hook beside the front door, and slipping on comfortable, well-worn Converse trainers. He took one last sweeping look around the apartment, hoped he’d drank enough booze to ward off the possibility of tremors later, and left.

He arrived at Ryou and Kek’s house around half an hour later, having walked briskly. Kek sat cross-legged on the driveway, tinkering with an old motorbike. His face bore numerous oil smudges, his hair a rather sweaty mess, but somehow, he’d never looked more at home. In his slightly elevated mood, Bakura could now feel a pang of envy, which, needless to say, quickly dropped him back to his usual grouchy self.

"Hey, freakshow,” he said by way of greeting. “Don’t you ever stop playing with your toys?”

“Could say the same of you,” Kek muttered. He was a mechanic’s apprentice by day, but when at home, he could usually be found outside, working with anything relating to old scraps of metal. It served to keep his mind grounded and occupied, which, given his past tendencies, could only be a good thing. “You not working tonight, Bakura?”

“Nah. I’ve got some leave that needs using, anyway.”

“You literally just add up numbers all day, at home, no less. What would you even need with leave?”

“It’s called employee rights, asshole.”

“Shut up and get inside before I throw engine oil at you.”

Bakura snorted, nimbly sidestepping Kek, and made for the front door, finding it unlocked.

Ryou and Malik were in the kitchen, quietly playing chess at the table, but Ryou's eyes lit up the instant he saw Bakura lingering in the doorway. " Kura!” Ryou jumped up from the table with a gleeful smile, rushing over to throw his arms round Bakura’s shoulders. Bakura stiffened, but allowed the close contact only because it was Ryou; anyone else who tried that would get a broken nose. He glanced over Ryou's shoulder at Malik, who gazed back with a soft, curious-looking expression.

"How have you been?” Ryou asked as he pulled away.

_Oh, you know, the usual. Drunk, depressed, and wishing I was at the bottom of a well somewhere so I’m not a bother to you ever again._

The thought went unvoiced, as Bakura had seen Ryou’s visage shatter in heartbreak one too many times for him to cope with, so instead he just gave a non-committal grunt and crossed the room to put the kettle on. “Busy with work. I gather you’ve been the same with university.”

“You’re not wrong,” Ryou laughed. “I’m up to my ears in assignments.”

Bakura noted the mugs next to the chess board. "Do you want another drink?”

“Oh, yes please," Ryou smiled.

“Malik?”

Malik glanced into his mug, nodded, then held it out. “Thanks, Bakura.”

Bakura couldn’t help the flicker of a smile that curved his lips, but he turned away quickly so nobody saw. He made up sweet, strong, milky tea for Ryou, and black coffee for himself and for Malik, remembering the Egyptian’s disdain for dairy.

Ryou and Malik accepted their drinks with grateful murmurs as they focused on their match, moving their pieces with precise skill and intense concentration, and Bakura perched on a chair next to Ryou, eyes darting back and forth, watching the movement of the pieces. The flashes of black and white were oddly soothing, a fond reminder of the times he used to delight in waging war on his own enemies - only the pieces were usually more Pharaoh-shaped back then.

Ryou had been in “check” twice, but managed to get himself out of it by blocking Malik’s pieces and taking a few for himself. However, this time, there was no way to escape as Malik moved his bishop.

_“Sheikh māt,”_ Malik said in his sultry Arabic purr. “I win, honey.”

Ryou giggled and stuck out his hand for Malik to shake. “Great game! You’re on a roll today.”

“Nah, it was Yugi who won our duel earlier.”

“You’ve been duelling as well?” Bakura asked, interest piqued.

“Yeah, it was great,” Malik grinned. “Yugi took control of Ryou’s Dark Necrofear and sacrificed her, then completely wiped the floor with Atem and won.”

“He _what?!_ That tiny bastard sacrificed my baby? I’ll kill him.”

“Hey, if I’m not allowed to kill people, then neither are you.” Kek's gruff words followed with heavy stomps of his boots as he strolled to the sink to wash soot and oil from his hands.

Bakura rolled his eyes as he sipped his coffee. “Ryou’s got you so whipped, I doubt you even know how to stab someone anymore. You’ve lost your touch, freakshow.”

“And I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Kek dried his hands, then draped himself over Ryou’s back, letting his tongue loll out as he grinned madly and nuzzled Ryou. “Would I, snowflake?” He proceeded to kiss up Ryou’s neck, making him squeal and squirm, before capturing his lips in a deep, dramatic, teenager-esque smooch.

_“Ya lahwy akhun!_ Get a room!” Malik laughed, throwing a bishop at Kek’s head, but it only served to get caught in his stiff, wiry mop of hair. Kek responded to the outburst with a middle finger, then shoved his tongue into Ryou’s mouth.

Happiness…

Love…

Security...

Bakura hadn’t known such feelings in over three-thousand years, yet as he watched his former Host flit beteen swatting feebly at Kek and melting into his kisses, Bakura knew he should at least be able to acknowledge that Ryou, of all people, deserved the love Kek showered him with. After everything Ryou had been through…losing his mother and sister, his father all but abandoning his one remaining child in his grief, and his manipulation and suffering at Bakura’s own hands…

He and Ryou were somehow closer now than Bakura ever thought they could be, and yet, he couldn’t be happy for them. He just couldn’t.

It wasn’t in him.

It wasn’t there.

Nothing was there.

Instead, he felt his chest tighten, his hands shake, his breathing start to quicken against his will. He had never been able to control the awful reactions, ever since they had begun, but he knew what they meant - he was crashing, and fast.

_No, god fucking dammit no, not now, not now - !_

Surely nobody’s heart could beat this fast? Bakura clutched at the front of his shirt and shivered with the dizziness, the waves of nausea threatening to shut him down.

Vaguely he registered the scrape of a chair, a warm hand taking his own. Unsure of what was happening, Bakura allowed himself to be led out of the room and upstairs, to the spare bedroom.

_Where…? Oh, Malik’s…of course. But…_

“Bakura, are you okay?” Malik sat Bakura down on the bed and knelt in front of him. “I’ve never seen you tremble like that before. You don’t look well.”

All Bakura could do was shake his head in response, his words catching in his throat like dead weight. He grabbed at his hair, sharp, shuddering breaths beginning to crescendo into hyperventilation.

“Okay, _habibi,_ I need you to breathe. Focus on me…look at me, okay?” Malik reached out with steady hands and cupped Bakura’s cheeks, lifting his face up so they could look eye to eye. “I know it’s hard,” Malik whispered. “Believe me, I know. Breathe deeply…let’s try and calm you down, alright?”

In his haze of sorrow, there was little else Bakura could do but follow Malik’s orders. He closed his eyes and leaned his brow against Malik’s, acknowledging the soft whoosh of Malik’s breath on his face, using it to guide his own breaths. Malik continued to hold Bakura’s cheeks, his palms warm and soft, a comforting touch that Bakura didn’t know he had ever needed so badly until he felt it.

It was as if he could float away, lost and cursed to wander alone forever, but Malik…he was Bakura’s anchor, grounding him, tying him to the earth securely. There was little point in trying to fight the feelings of shame and anger he harboured towards himself, not now, not when the deep, slow breathing, and Malik’s tender stroking of his face, was calming him faster than anything else had ever done in his life.

Slowly…slowly…attachment to the world began to return. The pounding in Bakura’s chest no longer felt as though it could crack his ribs at any moment, though his mind remained on the dizzy side. Nevertheless, he was aware of himself, and of Malik, and of what had just transpired. He managed a few rapid blinks, fluttering his lashes as if to clear the irritant that was his fucked-up mental health.

"I'm good now, Malik," he murmured.

“Are you going to tell me what’s on your mind?” Malik asked, almost like he could read Bakura’s even at that very moment.

Bakura opened his mouth, but the words still struggled to come, so he shook his head and pulled away from Malik, heat rising to his cheeks. “Later,” he just about managed to croak out.

“Sure,” Malik nodded. “You should take your time. I don’t want to push you.”

_Who the fuck are you and what have you done with the shit-talking, smug little brat called Malik?_ Bakura’s coherent mind slotted itself firmly back into its usual spot and immediately yelled about being rather unnerved that Malik, of all people, was the one who had been Bakura’s comfort. Yet, strangely…he didn’t mind. In fact, he rather liked the idea of that comfort being a constant presence.

“Um, hey…Malik?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you, um…I mean to say, will you - ah, fuck - ”

“Bakura?”

_Is this shit supposed to be this fucking hard?! Words, man! Words!_

“Will you stay with me?” Bakura blurted out, and Malik blinked several times in response. “Not here, I mean,” Bakura continued, blushing violently now and hating himself for it, “but maybe…you could spend a few days at my place? Being on my own is boring.”

Malik wrinkled his nose. “You idiot. You chose to move out on your own.”

“Yeah, well, have _you_ ever had to listen to Ryou and Kek fucking? They’re horrible at keeping quiet.”

“Ryou sure kept that bit on the down-low when he offered to let me stay here.”

“Yeah, like I said, horrible.”

Malik gave Bakura a goofy, endearing grin. “And there you were, just a week ago, saying you didn’t want me under your nose. I suppose you’ve twisted my arm, _habibi..._ I’ll stay for a while, but only if you keep the place clean. I am not living in that bombsite you call an apartment otherwise.”

“See, Malik, there's this little thing called "employment," and you tend to find it eats into your time considerably.” Bakura tried to keep a scowl on his face, but he knew what _'habibi'_ meant, especially coming from a flirtatious heart-stealer like Malik, and the implication had him fighting not to blush like an embarrassed teenager.

Malik snorted, clearly amused and not at all offended. "Well, you seem back to your usual asshole self, so I'm going back downstairs." His smile widened further, and the happy, excitable expression had butterflies flitting about the pit of Bakura's stomach. "Today will be the day I finally kick someone's ass at a video game!"


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_Sorry for anyone who got a notification saying chapter 12 was uploaded. Stupid me didn't check my drafts before attempting to post this - I've corrected it now, this is in fact chapter 9._ **

* * *

Malik noted Ryou’s anxious gaze when he and Bakura came back downstairs. He clearly wanted to ask what had happened, but Malik shook his head ever so slightly. He felt just as perplexed as Ryou looked, but in any case, Bakura looked relatively calm now, and there was little need to work him up again. They settled in the living room, next to Ryou and Kek on the sofa, and slotted Mario Kart into Ryou’s old SNES. Bakura’s sour expression immediately brightened as the title music started playing; it was difficult to believe that just five minutes earlier, the same young man was practically having a panic attack.

 _Well, no, actually,_ Malik corrected himself, as he hurled a blue shell at Kek, to explosive curses from his former alter in a Japanese-Arabic mishmash. _I was much the same not long ago, so I_ can _believe it. Bakura’s got a lot going on that he isn’t telling us about, but I can see a little of what’s happening in his head. One thing’s for sure, he needs some proper support._

It wasn’t as if Malik knew he was going to “cure” his old friend. He knew enough of his own delicate mental health to be aware that even the strongest medication could only do so much for some people, and that a few talks and hugs did next to nothing. He’d been too anxious about inflicting his problems onto other people, so intimacy and relationships had been completely out of the question, and no doubt, Bakura felt the same, as indicated by his usual tendency to shut everybody out of his life.

Yugi’s earlier words reverberated like a heavily struck bell inside Malik’s mind, an ever-present reminder, clear and pure. _Partners…equals…he’s right, the only way either of us can even begin healing these emotional wounds is by getting back on that even footing with each other. Jeez, it’s like Battle City all over again._

“Malik?” Kek was poking Malik’s arm curiously. “Are you driving, or what?”

“S-Sorry.” Malik shook his head and picked up his controller again.

“Dork,” Bakura grinned, tucking his feet up to the side and getting more comfortable on the sofa. With a controller in his hands and the skin around his dark eyes crinkling with every smile, Malik couldn't help but think Bakura looked happier than he'd ever seen him. Indeed, it was beautiful to bear witness to.

Nevertheless, the urge to banter with his old partner got the better of him. “Screw you, Bakura.”

“I mean, sure, if that’s the way you swing.”

Malik nearly choked on his own tongue. Ryou burst out laughing, causing Malik to glare at him. “Oh, come on! Am I really _that_ obvious?”

“Yes,” Kek smirked.

“Oh, fuck you!”

“Sorry, I’m taken.” Kek nuzzled Ryou’s cheek affectionately.

Malik glanced worriedly at Bakura, gauging his reaction, but this time, Bakura looked rather nonplussed. In fact, he nestled ever so slightly closer to Malik. “I’m hanging off the edge here,” he muttered when Malik raised a questioning eyebrow at him.

Ryou giggled at their interaction. “It wouldn’t do to let Bakura fall now, would it, Malik?”

 _I hate you all._ But really, that was the perfect excuse to slip an arm round Bakura and tug him closer. To his astonishment, Bakura settled down with his head on Malik’s shoulder, leaning his body weight against Malik’s side. The sudden contact made sparks dance across nerves Malik hadn’t been aware he possessed, but at the same time, he felt once more just how light Bakura was; he should have been dead weight, but rigidity pressed into Malik instead of softness and curves. He wouldn’t bring it up, though…not yet. Bakura seemed happy, and he didn’t want to spoil that, so he chanced a little further and dropped a gentle kiss to Bakura’s brow.

Ryou gasped, Kek rolled his eyes, but Bakura merely chuckled and shifted closer. “You’re playing a different sort of game here, Ishtar,” he murmured. “You sure you know what you’re doing? This isn’t Mario Kart.”

“Says you,” Malik shot back. “You’re the one snuggled into me like a damn teddy bear.”

“You’re cute and comfortable.”

“Are you drunk?”

“I’m always drunk.”

Ryou had a hand pressed to his mouth, their game all but forgotten. “Holy crap,” he whispered not-so-subtly to Kek, “this is perfect, don’t you think?”

“It’s fucking embarrassing is what it is,” Kek hissed. “Get a room, you two.”

Malik blazed past Ryou on the race track and left a banana peel in his path. “Oh, honey, that reminds me,” he said to Ryou, “I’m going to crash at Bakura’s place for a few days, if that’s alright with you.”

Ryou’s delicate features became a mask of glee. “Of course it is!” he trilled. “Do you want some help moving your things over?”

“Nah, it’ll be alright. Do you mind if I leave some stuff here? I’ll take the rest with me.”

“No problem at all. And you know you’re welcome to come by whenever you like, right? Bakura should still have the spare house key I gave him.”

Bakura dug in his pocket and pulled out his keychain, frowning at it a moment. “Yeah, it’s still there,” he said, tucking the chain away, “somehow.”

“Thanks for not losing it. My landlord would give me hell if I couldn’t return it someday.”

Bakura grunted in affirmation, leaning ever closer into Malik. Seemingly uninterested in any further conversation, he focused further on the game.

Later, when they grew bored of Mario Kart, they played Smash Bros., and after that, threw a rubbish horror movie on. Bakura's head made its way into Malik's lap shortly after the movie's intro, taking advantage of the extra space afforded him when Kek decided to sit on the floor. Warm, happy and comfortable, Malik occasionally ran his hand through Bakura's hair, playing with the messy strands that had fallen out from his ponytail; he barely even noticed he was doing it, the soft, appreciative purrs from Bakura unconsciously spurring him to continue. Ryou, sat beside Malik, seemingly couldn't help glancing over from time to time, smiling and giggling at their close, almost intimate, contact.

"Doing okay down there, _habibi?"_ Malik asked Bakura.

"Mm."

"Bakura?"

"Don't stop," Bakura muttered, nudging his head into Malik's open palm.

Grinning, Malik scratched behind Bakura's ear, delighting in the heavy sigh he made in response. "You're like a kitty."

Bakura rolled onto his back and scowled up at Malik. An odd tension rose and stiffened his shoulders, but they dropped back down after a few moments, accompanied by a roll of Bakura's eyes. "Shut up."

"Okay, I'm sorry." Malik brushed Bakura's fringe back from his face, seeing himself reflected in the deep pools of Bakura's brown eyes. Bakura continued to gaze up at him, looking a little pissed off, but Malik just thought the expression was cute on him. This interaction between them seemed such a far cry from the previous week, when there had been shouting and tempers flaring, that Malik hardly dared to believe he was being allowed this closeness to Bakura, let alone his former partner initiating it. Yet here he was, nestled into Malik's lap, giving the occasional shiver as Malik's fingers played over his scalp. His face appeared peaceful once Malik had stroked the tension away from his brow, the rest of his body assuming a rather rigid stance; Malik assumed he might have still been fighting off nerves from being so close.

Halfway through the movie, Kek grabbed an armful of snacks from the kitchen for them all to share. Malik politely declined, but Ryou tore eagerly into a “family-sized” bag of potato crisps, and Bakura occasionally sucked on a piece of chocolate as he watched the movie. It was getting towards eight o’clock now, and Ryou hopped up from time to time to go into the kitchen and prepare actual food, though, knowing him and Kek, they wouldn’t be eating it until very late into the night.

On the third time Ryou got up, Bakura followed him, and Malik’s ears pricked at the sound of the kettle starting to boil. Bakura reappeared soon after with a mug of coffee and sat back down beside Malik, eyes firmly fixed on the TV screen and any trace of former cheerfulness gone. “You look tired,” Malik commented. “Need the caffeine?”

Bakura gave a shrug and raised the mug to his lips. Malik’s gaze focused on his hands, and he frowned. “Bakura, you’re shivering. Are you cold?”

“No,” he growled in response.

“Are you alright?”

“Leave me alone, Ishtar.”

Kek snorted, flicking an empty sweet wrapper in Bakura’s direction. “He’s withdrawing,” he told Malik. “Probably hasn’t had a drink for most of the day.”

“Fuck you, other Ishtar,” Bakura snapped.

“Yep, definitely withdrawing.”

 _Is this just how dependent he’s become?_ Malik worried, unable to look away from Bakura. He’d now deliberately shifted right to the end of the sofa, tucking his knees up against his chest, his face twisted in an ugly scowl. It was clear by how tightly he gripped his mug that he was trying not to let the tremors show, but it was futile, merely serving to direct them throughout his body instead.

“Bakura?” Malik tried again, tentatively.

He was met with a glare so deadly, he was surprised poison didn’t shoot from Bakura’s mouth when he opened it. “Do… _not…_ push me, Malik.”

Kek muttered several Arabic curses under his breath, and hauled himself off the sofa. He disappeared into the kitchen a moment, then came back with a shot glass of some pale brown liquid, which he dumped into Bakura’s coffee. “Drink that and shut the fuck up."

“Kek!” Ryou yelled from the kitchen. “Did you just give Kura my whiskey?”

“Only a shot! How else was I going to get him to behave?”

Ryou poked his head round the door, looking reproachful. “You’re terrible, love.”

But Bakura just laughed and drained the peculiar mixture in several long gulps. “Thanks, freakshow,” he said. “Now, I believe I’ve overstayed my welcome, if _yadonushi’s_ face is anything to go by, so I’ll be taking my leave.”

“Don’t call me that,” Ryou frowned.

“Hmm, yes...I suppose that’s the wrong word. I’m not your tenant anymore, am I? No, I’m the rat dragged up from the gutter, where it was comfortable. Perhaps I should call you _“traitor”_ instead.”

Malik’s mouth dropped open. _How dare he?!_

Ryou’s eyes grew tearful, and he fled back into the kitchen without another word. Malik glanced to Kek, who shook his head, looking guilty. _An enabler indeed._

“Coming?” Bakura asked Malik, already standing by the front door as if nothing had happened.

Ryou’s soft sobs filtered through from the kitchen, and the sounds shook something in Malik, something primal and protective. He marched up to Bakura, prodding him forcefully in the chest. “You’re a heartless prick, you know that?”

Bakura raised an eyebrow. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

Scarlet rage simmered hot and fiery behind Malik's eyes as he fought not to punch Bakura in his arrogant face, but Ryou gave a loud sniff, and his anger abated ever so slightly. “I will deal with you in a minute, asshole,” He spat at Bakura, then turned on his heel and stormed off to the kitchen.

He found Ryou washing up at the sink, sniffling, his head bowed, fluffy hair obscuring his eyes. “Hey, honey…” Malik wrapped his arms around Ryou, carefully prising a wet glass out of Ryou’s hands and setting it aside. “I’m sorry you’re having to deal with this right now. I know it must be tough.”

Ryou scrubbed his eyes with the back of his hand, only managing to smear a few stray soapsuds over his cheeks. “I just want the guilt to stop,” he whispered.

“You’ve nothing to feel guilty for.”

“I dragged him back into the world…for what? For him to go and drink himself to death?” Ryou’s voice rose, a bitter note tainting his words. “It was an accident, he knows that, but every single fucking day, he makes his feelings towards it known by ripping my heart to shreds, over and over again! I can’t stand it, Malik! I can’t take any more of this! So please…” He shook his head and pulled himself free of Malik’s embrace. “…Please take him home. I can’t bear to have him here a moment longer.”

That was when Malik knew Ryou had finally crumbled under the strain of holding himself together. Ryou tried so hard to make it up to Bakura, knowing how his former darkness felt about being unceremoniously dumped back into the land of the living. But this…it was uncalled for, and not what Ryou, or anyone, deserved. Malik’s soft, sweet friend hated letting anyone be privy to his sorrow, when he himself was so focused on making sure everyone around him was okay. For him to be breaking down in tears meant he’d had enough of faking being strong.

“I’ll be back soon, okay?” Malik kissed Ryou’s cheek and went back to the living room. As he stalked towards a smirking Bakura, he jabbed a finger in Kek’s direction. “You are in _big_ trouble, Kek, so for your sake and Ryou’s, you’d best be sleeping on the couch tonight.”

Kek scratched the back of his head. “Duly noted.”

Malik grabbed Bakura by the arm and dragged him out the front door, away from the tension he’d created within.

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **  
> _Content warnings in this chapter for dissociation and flashbacks, and I'm sorry these chapters are so short at the moment - I can't normally stand to have several POVs in one chapter, so I've had to separate everything out, leading to these very short updates. The chapters do get longer later, I promise._  
>  **

* * *

Bakura had well and truly fucked up, and he knew it. Malik only walked with him halfway before turning on his heel and walking straight back the way they had come, muttering that he’d be over later. Knowing there was little point in following him, Bakura completed the journey home alone. Ryou clearly had no desire to have him around at present, and Kek had a habit of punching things that pissed him off or annoyed his beloved. After suffering at least two broken noses in Ancient Egypt, it wasn't a position he fancied putting himself in again for the sake of a few drunken laughs.

The lock on the door to the apartment building had been fixed at some point during the day, but Bakura didn’t have the key to it anymore, since it had been broken for so long. Bubbling with a seething, half-withdrawing rage, he smashed the pane in the door and hauled himself inside, paying no heed to the razor-sharp spikes of glass tearing into his skin.

Unlocking his front door, he slammed it shut once inside, stalked to the kitchen, and snatched up the vodka bottle on the counter. Kek’s shot of whiskey had been just enough to ward off the shakes, but now Bakura needed numbness, the cold, dead hands of despair dragging him down into the abyss in which he belonged. Resolutely ignoring the trickles of blood making their way down his arms, knuckles and cheeks, Bakura sagged against the counter and glugged straight from the bottle, the burn of alcohol soothing the lump of unwanted emotion lodged tightly in his throat.

The detachment from reality came blissfully quicker than he had anticipated. Darkness pervaded the apartment, the light switch having not been touched upon entry, but even with the lack of light, everything seemed to dim further, plunging Bakura’s senses into blackness as his world ceased to be real anymore.

_So cold…_

_So…so cold…_

_And this energy…occult energy…it’s everywhere..._

_Not so different, then, from the darkness that had imprisoned Bakura all those years. But the situation…oh, that was different,_ very _different. Time passed sporadically in the shadows, and one moment he’d endured the prods and pokes of Ryou’s godforsaken Ouija board as it extracted his thoughts and converted them into communication, and the next, dragged into Ryou’s living room, bewildered and wondering why screams filled the air._

_Malik?_

_What was Malik doing here?_

_Why was he screaming like that?_

_Bakura spotted the source of his terror. A swirl of deepest violet dashed before his eyes, followed by a sharp cry of shock and several voices raised as one._

_“Take your hands_ off _me, accursed shadow!”_

_Pharaoh? What was - ?_

_“Not likely! Now lie there like a good boy while I throttle you, okay?”_

_Malik’s other personality…?_

_“Yugi! Help me!”_

_Ryou, throwing himself over the other Malik’s shoulders and trying to drag him back…_

_“But Malik – ”_

_Yugi, crouched by Malik’s side, trying to calm him, but Malik continued to scream, clutching his head in his hands as if his very mind was about to shatter._

_What was going on? Why were they all…why were they all here?_

_No…_

_No!_

_This wasn’t how it was supposed to be!_

“Bakura!”

_No…_

“Bakura, get up!”

_I can’t…this wasn’t…let me sleep…please…_

A shock of cold cascaded down Bakura’s hair; he jerked upright with a shout, squinting at the sudden brightness in the room. In his dissociative haze, nothing quite pieced together as it should, but one thing was for certain; Malik stood over him, an empty glass in his hand that no doubt had been holding the freezing water now running in rivulets into Bakura’s shirt. The mauve-hued storm in Malik’s eyes could have destroyed whole civilisations, had it been allowed to be unleashed, and Bakura shivered before its might.

Malik didn’t speak immediately. He yanked Bakura up by the arm and dragged him through the apartment to his bedroom. Shoving Bakura inside, he picked up a discarded towel from the floor and tossed it over Bakura’s head. “Dry off and change your clothes. We need to talk.”

 _No, we don’t._ Malik’s glare burned too deeply into Bakura for him to be able to find his tongue for the argument he longed to voice. “Turn around,” he said instead, and made a circling motion with his finger.

“No,” Malik replied. “I want to see how much weight you’ve lost.”

“A lot.”

“Don’t be a dick, Bakura.”

Really, only the shirt was wet, but being a dick sounded petty and amusing, so Bakura made a show of peeling off every last bit of clothing and towelling off his hair while standing completely nude before Malik. If the Egyptian had anything on his mind, he didn’t let it show, remaining with arms folded in the doorway and only the lightest of blushes darkening his perfect cheekbones.

His lack of reaction soon bored Bakura, and he dried off his torso before slipping into a dry t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. “Satisfied, Ishtar?”

Malik unfolded his arms and pointed to the bed. “Sit down.”

Bakura did so, shoving an old computer mouse and a tangle of cables to the floor with as much force as he could muster in his uncoordinated, vodka-heavy limbs. He crossed his legs, rested his chin in his hands, and turned his head away from Malik's dark stare. He'd seen some horrors in his life, but he'd always been able to face those head-on; Malik's eyes, however, bore something so deep, so emotive, that he couldn't bear to look into them, afraid of what he might see in their stunning depths.

Malik squatted down in front of him, much the same as he had done earlier in the evening, and Bakura found himself glancing back at him, the pull of those eyes too strong to fight. Reality began to return for him as he realised they were in a similar situation once more - were the events of today about to repeat themselves?

“I went back to see how Ryou was doing.” Malik’s voice was soft, no hint of his earlier frustration evident in his tone. “They were arguing pretty heatedly. I’ve never seen Ryou get that worked up before…he’s usually so calm and level-headed, but I guess when it’s you involved, all restraint goes out of the window.”

Bakura frowned. They had been arguing…about him?

“Kek was saying he couldn’t understand why Ryou cares so much about you, and Ryou was going ballistic that Kek keeps enabling you all the damn time. Yugi was right about him after all.”

Well, all that was true, at least - hang on, where the fuck did the pipsqueak come into this?

“Ryou doesn't want to see you, not after you insulted him the way you did. He’s had enough, Bakura. Do you have any idea how much you've hurt him these last few years? Bakura! Are you even listening to me?”

He was, just about, but there wasn’t much to add, so he just nodded.

“Look, _habibi_ …I get that these last few years have been hard on you. But you’re not the only one who’s struggled, and it might be time to accept that you need to talk to someone about this.”

Bakura turned his head away again, lips pursed. “Don’t presume to understand what I’ve been through.”

“Maybe not, but I’d appreciate it if you at least let me try.” Malik reached out and took Bakura’s hands, squeezing them gently.

Bakura said nothing, but the warmth of Malik’s hands held a sweet comfort against the chill that still wracked his body. The urge to stroke the smooth, dark skin with his thumbs ebbed and flowed; Bakura resisted as long as he could, but as with anything involving Malik, he became consumed by his loving, infectious aura, and allowed himself a few indulgent sweeps, feeling the knot in his chest loosen a little as if in silent thanks.

Minutes passed between them, neither speaking. Any desire to spill forth never came. How could he, when it was more than he deserved? Why should he burden anyone else with all the pathetic worries of his mind? Malik was right; others had gone through some difficult times, too, but they weren’t the ones bringing it on themselves. Oh, yes, Bakura was more than aware that he was solely responsible for all the self-loathing he felt.

Projecting, he surmised, was just a lot easier than admitting he desperately needed help.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_Content warnings in this chapter for flashbacks, and references to the previous breakdown of Malik's mental health._ **

* * *

By the time Malik stormed back to Bakura’s apartment – managing to clamber through the smashed entryway door without any injuries – he’d been ready to royally kick Bakura’s ass into next week for making Ryou cry, but seeing Bakura so fragile and broken on his kitchen floor, he just couldn’t bring himself to do it. Prior experience leapt out of his memories to remind him that nobody would have gotten anywhere with him two years ago, had he just been shouted at instead of empathised with.

And now…it had been obvious from the start that Bakura had no intention of telling Malik anything, but as Malik knelt before Bakura in the darkened bedroom, still clasping his hands, he found his desire to push him for answers waning. In its place, the urge to speak aloud made its way to the forefront of Malik’s mind.

Maybe…just maybe…if he told Bakura what he hadn’t told another soul close to him…

Malik’s voice was a hoarse whisper by the time the words made themselves known.

“After you all came back, something in me just…shattered. I thought my darkness had gone, but seeing Kek there, so angry and seething for vengeance, I…”

Bakura’s hands twitched against Malik’s. “I remember. You were screaming, and nobody could stop you.”

“I can’t recall much after that.”

“You kind of…” Bakura frowned. “It was like you spaced out completely. You stopped screaming, but you stopped responding to everything that was going on around you. You were seeing, and looking at us, but you couldn’t speak.”

“Dissociation.” The word tasted bitter and unwelcome on Malik’s tongue.

“Is that what you call it?”

“Um…” Malik rocked back on his heels with a wince. “My legs are killing me, kneeling like this. Can I sit on the bed?”

Bakura jerked his hands back and swung himself around so he could rest against the headboard. Malik hopped up and sat cross-legged opposite Bakura. His arms wrapped tightly round his stomach, a defence against the vulnerability Malik felt in the moment.

Bakura leaned forward a touch. “Tell me about this…dissociation.”

Malik’s heart hammered in his chest. Speaking so freely about his mental health was uncomfortable at best; heck, he’d never wanted to talk to Isis or even Rishid about any of this, but Bakura…something so lost and needy resonated in him, and Malik couldn’t deny him the information.

“It’s like disconnecting from reality,” he said. “It’s the way my mind likes to cope with stress or trauma, but it can happen to anybody. Back then, during the confusion, I blacked out for so long that by the time I came to, weeks had gone by and I’d ended up back home in Egypt.”

_Where am I?_

_How am…?_

_I can hear my sister…and my brother…_

_But this darkness…it…it won’t stop coming for me…I-I can’t…_

_Nothing feels right!_

_I-I’m…scared-!_

_No! Please! Get away from me! I purged you from my soul! Please! Please!_

Bakura gave a low whistle. “That’s some timespan.”

“Mm. I think Ryou had called Isis and they managed to get me back, but they told me afterwards that I locked myself in my room and started screaming at shadows that weren’t there.” Malik laughed bitterly. “Crazy, huh?”

Bakura remained silent, but his head tilted to the side ever so slightly, eyes never leaving Malik’s mouth.

Malik continued on, “I was taking medication anyway, for anxiety, but then I started having flashbacks and lashing out at my brother and sister, so I figured it wasn’t working for me anymore. Nothing felt real, and it was like my body had completely separated from the world. My doctor gave me antipsychotics instead, but they messed with my sleep pattern and made me manic, so throw insomnia into the mix of everything that was going on, and I eventually ended up having a total catatonic breakdown.”

_Is this what a coma patient goes through? Hearing, and feeling, but unable to respond? Is this…is this what has happened to me?_

_I can’t speak._

_I can’t move._

_I can’t even blink my eyes._

_They think I’m crazy._

_I’m not crazy. I saw the darkness coming for me._

_People are talking around me. I wish they would stop._

_I can hear them perfectly fine, but they speak of me as though I’m not there._

_I guess, though…maybe I’m not._

_Because I can’t speak._

_I can’t move._

_I can’t even blink my eyes._

_I can’t turn my mind off._

_I can’t…I can’t forget…_

_The darkness…_

_Why won’t it stop?_

_Why?_

_Why?_

_Why?_

Was the room cold?

It felt cold.

No…Malik trembled from the sheer terror of recalling the nightmare that had been those months following the confusion. Tears filled his vision, distorting Bakura’s face into prisms of white on white, but he couldn’t stop, couldn’t…he had to finish what he’d started.

“In a brief moment of clarity,” Malik murmured, “I took myself straight to the nearest hospital and told them I needed to be admitted, before I hurt myself or anyone else. They assessed me, and something triggered another breakdown…I don’t remember what it was…but in the end I was sectioned; I couldn’t make my own decisions by that point. I was just…gone.”

Bakura bit his lip, a faint shimmer in his eyes as his silence continued.

“Must’ve spent a year in there…and I was diagnosed with depression, schizoaffective disorder, and post-traumatic stress disorder in that time. I’m sure if Kek had still been in my head, they would have thrown dissociative identity disorder into the mix too…”

_“The pathetic little narcissist just wants attention. Leave him be.”_

The damn broke; Malik’s voice cracked like split wood, the water held back rushing down his cheeks. “And after all that, Bakura…do you still think I wanted attention? Did I do this all to be noticed? Well? What do you think now?”

Unable to stand Bakura’s shocked stare any longer, Malik buried his face in his hands and sobbed.

_Why did I even tell him any of this? He doesn’t care. If anything, he’ll just use it as –_

A creak of bedsprings, and enveloping warmth stopped Malik’s train of thought, and his heartbeat, dead in their tracks. Malik gasped, shocked enough to cease crying for a few precious moments.

Bakura was…

Bakura was hugging him, holding him. This wasn’t the playful closeness on Ryou’s sofa earlier in the day. No, this was a true, if not a little awkward, embrace.

Time seemed to stop at the realisation, though not in the way that frightened Malik into dissociating. Rather, he leaned into the tentative hold, wrapping his arms round Bakura’s waist and holding on tightly to the back of his shirt as he soaked the front with tears.

“Dammit, you idiot,” he choked. “You hurt me so badly when you said that. I get that you were bitter, but…” He thumped the small of Bakura’s back weakly. “All of this was real! You’re not the only one who’s fucked up!”

It was silly, really, to have gotten so worked up over just a few words, when Bakura was well-known for his acid tongue…but every time Malik thought about it, it sent an icy dagger through his heart. It didn’t compare to the agony of the heated knife that had scored into his back so many years ago, but what was one unbearable pain to another? Physical, mental, emotional…it all hurt the same.

A different heat seeped into him, the soft warmth of Bakura’s body working to soothe away his fears, chase away his embarrassment. Bakura himself said nothing, but his fingers stroking through Malik’s hair, keeping his head pressed close to the rhythmic thud of his heart, were words enough, as if to say, “ _Don’t be stupid, Ishtar. It’s alright, you know? Just cry.”_

It took several minutes for Malik to notice that Bakura’s free hand had been resting on his mid-back the whole time. Nobody in living memory had touched Malik’s scars and lived to tell the tale, yet here was Bakura, boldly making his claim on the forbidden territory…and the longer Malik processed the fact, the more he realised he didn’t care.

“Malik…”

The Egyptian looked up, drying his eyes. Bakura stared down at him, his own eyes blazing. “I…I can’t apologise for what I said back then, because it would be meaningless,” he said, as he wiped at Malik’s cheeks with the hem of his now rather damp shirt. “I knew you weren’t faking, but I was so damn pissed off with everything that I guess I just lashed out.”

“A pitiful excuse,” Malik muttered.

“I know. But really, Malik? You must have the thickest fucking skin of anyone I know. Why would a couple of words, from an established asshole like me, affect you so badly?”

“I don’t know, alright!” Malik shoved Bakura away, scowling. “Ugh…I came here to talk some sense into you, and here I am crying like an idiot all over you, spilling my own troubles. You must think I’m a total dork.”

Bakura smirked. “I do, but not because of that.” He readjusted his position, lying back with a hand behind his head. “I think you’re a dork because you get way in over your head, and expect too much of yourself, and you worry about what others think of you…and look at you, for Ra’s sake. After all this time you spent hiding away from your demons, it took me upsetting Ryou to finally coax it all out of you.”

He took a deep breath, closed his eyes momentarily, then reached his free hand out to Malik, who shuffled forward tentatively. Bakura twined their fingers together, a soft, emotive gesture that made Malik’s heart flutter. “Least I know I’m not on my own where demons are concerned, hm?” Bakura whispered.

“You’re never on your own,” Malik replied. Somehow, he didn’t think he could ever get enough of the feel of Bakura’s skin against his own.

“Malik, listen…I guess I owe you one. I’m not a total piece of shit, and you’ve unloaded a lot on me tonight. I’ll pay you back in kind, but tomorrow, yeah? We’ve had enough emotion to deal with for one day.”

A watery smile brightened Malik’s face as he nodded. “Okay.”

Bakura returned his smile. He tried pulling his hand away, his body moving upright in a way that suggested he would leave the room, but Malik shook his head, tugging Bakura back. “Stay,” he said, eyes large, questioning, vulnerable. “I don’t…I don’t want to be alone right now.”

After a moment, to Malik’s delighted relief, Bakura nodded. This time, Malik initiated their embrace, and they sank down together into the pillows and blankets.

A sense of trust felt to be blooming between them, a mutual understanding only they shared. Malik’s head rested on Bakura’s chest, his fingers drawing patterns around the damp patches he had left on Bakura’s shirt from his tears. Bakura leaned his head back and closed his eyes, his whole body relaxing beneath Malik’s touch.

“I think I’m falling asleep,” Malik yawned.

“Take your lenses out, you idiot,” Bakura replied.

“It’s alright…you can sleep in these ones.”

“Dumbass, let your eyes breathe.”

“No.” Malik nestled into Bakura. “I’m too comfortable.”

Bakura didn’t appear to have the energy to argue. With the soft touch of his fingers smoothing up and down Malik’s back, Malik closed his eyes and allowed his contentment to sweep him blissfully into slumber.

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_The scene you've all been waiting for! Features a short passage of explicit content. Enjoy!_ **

* * *

It wasn’t like Bakura to wake up early at all. Rather, he considered anything before 10:30 too early to deal with. When he opened his eyes and glanced at his alarm clock to see it read 7:45, he wondered what had changed to make him so oddly alert.

There was a shift to his left, followed by a soft sigh, and he remembered with a jolt that he and Malik had fallen asleep together the night before. Rolling onto his side, Bakura took in the sight of Malik, sprawled out on his stomach, thick blonde hair half-obscuring his face. His back rose and fell with gentle breaths, serene and undisturbed, a far cry from the sobbing, shaking wreck he had been the previous night. Bakura couldn’t help but feel content, watching his friend sleep without the nightmares of the past troubling him.

Bakura only lasted a few minutes, however, before the familiar seizing in his muscles reared its ugly head, telling him he’d start trembling soon if he didn’t drink something.

_Seriously?! Could I not just have slept a little longer first?_ He slipped out of bed, careful not to jostle Malik too much, and crept towards the kitchen. On the way, several bags in the living room caught his eye. He figured Malik must have brought a few days’ worth of stuff with him. Where he’d put it, he had no idea, given the minimal size of the apartment, but they’d make do.

Bakura picked up the vodka he’d been drinking the night before and splashed an unspecific amount into the nearest glass. He didn’t really care how much there was, just so long as it stopped him shaking. After a few sips, the seizing began to relax, and he set the glass down so he could head to the bathroom for a shower. The hot water loosened and soothed the stiffness in his joints, owing to the unfamiliar position he’d fallen asleep in from cradling Malik to his chest.

As he stood under the spray, Bakura’s thoughts wandered back to everything Malik told him the night before. Not all of it had been a surprise; Ryou had told him bits and pieces, but not in Malik's level of detail. The sudden ache in Bakura’s chest in response to Malik’s tears had been the driving force behind him rushing forward to hold his friend close. It seemed like the only way at the time to soothe them both. Bakura knew he had been selfish, seeking to calm himself down even when Malik was sobbing his heart out, but it had felt so good…and Malik appeared to have appreciated the gesture as well. So…it was okay, right?

Malik was still sound asleep by the time Bakura finished in the shower and slipped back into the bedroom to find clean clothes. With some amusement, Bakura recalled Malik’s insistence of watching him change. _Under the pretence of seeing how skinny I am…yeah, right, you keep telling yourself that, pretty boy._

He threw on a pair of black boxers and a loose-fitting, burgundy vest, scowled at his stick-thin legs, then grabbed his laptop from the living room, his glass from the kitchen, and clambered back into bed. If he wasn’t going back to sleep, he might as well get some work done.

Two hours later, Bakura had drained his glass and was midway through scribbling down notes from the charts on his laptop screen, when Malik stirred, lifting his head ever so slightly. Barely a second later, he dropped his head back down with a sharp inhale of breath.

“Something wrong?” Bakura asked, glancing down.

“No.” Malik’s voice sounded strained.

“Is it your back?”

“Mm.”

“Is that a yes or no? Give me something to work with, dipshit.”

“Yes, it’s my back!” Malik growled. His hands fisted in the sheets, his breaths now coming fast and irregular.

Bakura put his laptop aside, frowning. He remembered, all too well, the uncomfortable tightness of the scars he had worn in his days as the King of Thieves, but the scars themselves had been of minimal number and relatively small. Malik’s back bore swathes of deep, cauterised knife strokes, and it was difficult to imagine how much pain they must still cause him even after more than a decade.

_There must be something in his bags that he uses to help with the pain._

“Stay there,” he ordered, and jumped out of bed, hurrying to the living room.

“As if I have a choice!” Malik yelled.

Bakura hastily unzipped the nearest of Malik’s bags and riffled through it. Mostly clothes, and he also found several identical boxes of what looked to be prescription medication, though Bakura couldn’t read Arabic to save his life. He put one of them aside, in case Malik needed to take any of them soon. The next bag proved to be more promising, and Bakura pulled out an elegant, dark glass bottle containing some sort of oil. A vague memory of dabbing lotus flower oil on his lips when they cracked and bled in the harsh Egyptian desert rose to the forefront of Bakura’s mind. He took the oil back to the bedroom, along with the box of medication.

“Did you just go through my stuff?” Malik hadn’t moved even a centimetre, apparently in too much discomfort.

“Don’t be such a woman,” Bakura snapped. Malik raised an eyebrow at him in mock surprise, but crept a hand out, gesturing to the box Bakura held. Bakura handed it over, watching Malik remove two tablets and swallow them. “Is this stuff for your…?”

“Yeah, they're my crazy pills. I wasn’t sure how long it would take to register with a doctor here, so when I was due to move, I got a bigger prescription, just in case.” Malik tossed the box onto the bedside table and dropped his head back down. “Is there a reason you have my almond oil?”

“I thought maybe…” Bakura sat back down on the bed, fiddling with his hair, "....it might be good for your back?”

“O-Oh.” Malik lifted his head again, a bright sparkle in his eyes as he smirked. “Hmmm...is that an offer? How altruistic of you, Bakura.”

“Pfft. Dream on, Ishtar.”

“Well, you can’t expect me to be able to reach all over, can you?” Malik teased.

“I’m not your masseuse, dammit.”

Malik rolled his eyes and made to speak, but shuddered after a moment and buried his head in the pillows once more, gasping in pain.

Bakura frowned, displeased. The way Malik trembled, laid flat on his stomach, reminded Bakura a little too much of the position Malik would have been forced into during his initiation. He really must have been in unimaginable pain to be willing to let somebody have such intimate free reign of his skin; Bakura knew even Rishid and Isis couldn't so much as touch their brother's shoulder without him recoiling in disgust.

But Malik and Bakura, they had something different. Bakura had bled for him once, to prove his loyalty. Malik had promised him the return of his Items - though ultimately he had failed to deliver on that one, the gesture had always stuck in Bakura's mind. They'd been partners till the end...and last night, they had shared a bed, found comfort in tender caresses and hearts beating as one. Bakura had touched his back for the first time then, and Malik hadn't pushed him away, a tangible bond in that moment that spoke of the deep trust Malik held for Bakura. He supposed he'd be flattered if he wanted to give more of a fuck. 

Bakura sighed. Emotions were such a pain in the ass. He dropped the bottle of oil to the bed and grasped the hem of Malik’s deep purple t-shirt. “Right, this is coming off. Can you lift your arms at all?”

A faint chuckle came from somewhere within the pillow, and Malik stiffly moved his arms over his head, allowing Bakura to work the fabric upwards and side to side. Slowly, inch by inch, the expanse of Malik’s scarred back came into view. Bakura tossed the wrinkled fabric aside and swung a leg over Malik to sit heavily on his thighs.

Malik didn’t protest at the sudden weight on his lower half. He turned his head to the side whilst folding his arms beneath the pillow. “Don’t press too hard,” he murmured.

Bakura snorted, flicking open the lid of the oil and squirting a sizeable puddle into his palm. “Duh.”

The Pharaoh’s memories stretched before Bakura like some sort of macabre artistic canvas. He supposed, in a way, it was. And he was going to put his hands on it; he, the former King of Thieves who had once desired vengeance from the owner of those very memories. The thought amused him, indulgent in its petty naughtiness.

Bakura spread the oil over his palms, warming the liquid up, before he laid them flat against the small of Malik’s back, settling either side of his spine. “Don’t expect too much. I’ve not done this before.”

Malik smiled gently. “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

Bakura had watched the women in his village rubbing their husband’s backs and necks, but that had been so long ago now, and his childhood memories were fuzzy. He figured as long as he didn’t put pressure on Malik’s spine, and tried not to tickle him, he’d do okay. With that slight lift of confidence in mind, he slid his hands up Malik’s back and spread out towards his shoulders, repeating a few times to make sure he’d covered all the scars with a layer of oil. The muscles beneath his fingers were hard and tense, and not from working out; Malik’s body was stiff from pain and resisted the gentle touch.

After a few rounds of stroking and spreading the oil, Bakura felt Malik beginning to relax, his shoulders dropping lower and his breaths becoming slower and deeper. Bakura marvelled at being able to actually _feel_ the muscles beneath his hands softening, and he focused a little more on where there was residual tension. Making a loose fist, he kneaded his knuckles against Malik’s shoulder, into the intricate wing pattern. Malik gasped in response.

“Does it hurt?” Bakura asked.

“A little,” Malik replied. “It’s like…a good pain, though.”

“Should I stop?”

“Hell, no.”

Bakura chuckled, beginning to knead the opposite shoulder. Malik was completely unravelling now, practically melting underneath him. His back arched when Bakura ran his hands downwards and turned out to rub the heels of his hands across the soft pads of his hips, and a breathy moan escaped him.

Record scratch.

_Oh, fuck._

Bakura’s hands stilled a moment. Malik’s back arching had been temptation enough, but that moan? Fuck, this was _not_ the right time to be getting an erection. Bakura shifted back a little, praying to whatever gods might still be out there that Malik wouldn’t notice the throbbing between his thighs. Bakura started stroking again, working deeper into Malik’s muscles now, and Malik continued to make noises of utter delight.

Bakura’s voice bore an uncontrollably husky edge as he asked in a whisper, “Is it good?”

Malik replied, just as huskily, “It’s wonderful.”

“Should I carry on?”

“Hmm…” Malik gave an experimental roll of his shoulders and groaned happily at the improved range of motion. Quick as a flash, he twisted underneath Bakura, so he was facing him. Bakura gave a little gasp at the realisation that he was completely straddling Malik’s lap. “My back feels a lot better now,” Malik grinned. “Thanks, Bakura.”

“Um…” Bakura’s brain started to short-circuit, and not just because of the vodka in his system.

“You look nervous.”

“Fuck you.”

“Oh? Is that a challenge?” Malik winked up at Bakura, and dammit, he could _feel_ himself blushing. “You know, you talk big, but when it really comes down to it, I don’t think you have the guts to put your money where your mouth is.” Malik’s scintillating gaze slid downwards, over the jutting contours of Bakura’s body, and Bakura’s blush grew deeper as Malik stopped at the juncture between his thighs. “You seem to have enjoyed rubbing me down more than I did.”

Bakura growled in response, folding his arms and trying his hardest to look nonplussed, which turned out to be rather difficult when straddling an attractive man and sporting a sizeable erection. “I’m sure you’d be in the same situation if you were massaging someone good-looking.”

“You’re probably right.” Malik grabbed Bakura’s hips and deftly flipped them over, Bakura’s back pressing into the sheets. Malik’s lips drifted close to Bakura’s ear, making him shiver at the light ghosting over the sensitive skin. “Then again, being massaged by someone good-looking seems to have had the same effect…”

Dammit, dammit, _dammit…_ Malik’s weight on top of him felt so damn amazing. Bakura had no idea where to put his hands, but they took on a mind of their own, one settling on Malik’s chest, the other beneath Malik’s chin to force his head back and their eyes to meet. Malik raised his eyebrows, amusement and enquiry sparkling in his lavender gaze. After a moment, it slid down to Bakura’s lips, then back up again, and Bakura might have possessed the social skills of a dead fish, but the meaning of Malik’s glance didn’t evade him.

They moved at the same time, their lips pressing together gently. Bakura’s eyes closed as every nerve in his body exploded in sweet euphoria. When Malik’s tongue slipped out to trace Bakura’s lips, he opened his mouth without hesitation and allowed their collective passion to sweep him away.

Eventually, Malik broke the kiss, though he maintained their connection by leaning his forehead against Bakura’s. He shifted his position slightly, and Bakura choked on his breath at the sudden, delicious pressure of Malik’s own arousal against his. After that, he couldn’t stop himself, raring on auto-pilot to greedily take as much from Malik as he could. He dragged Malik’s head back and smashed their mouths together once more, prying a delighted moan from the beauty above him.

All thoughts of self-restraint ended up flung out of the window, hell, Bakura shoved his constant feelings of despair out with them as their tongues danced, as his hands scrabbled at Malik’s waist to unbutton the jeans he’d fallen asleep in, even as Malik worked to free Bakura’s aching cock from his boxers.

They stroked and pulled at each other urgently, hips rocking together at an increasingly desperate pace. The feeling of Malik's cock in his hand, so warm and thick, was beyond any satisfaction Bakura had ever known. And his lips, _gods,_ his lips...the gods were cruel to sentence such soft, plump lips to eternal confinement underground.

The air grew heavy with the scent of their sweat, the sound of their gasps and moans. The way Malik pumped at Bakura's cock, the weight of Malik's body pressing into him, had Bakura's mind spiraling into blissful oblivion. It was so good, _so good..._

"D-Dammit..." Bakura muttered through their avalanche of wet, clumsy kisses.

Malik pulled back, though he continued to stroke Bakura's shaft. "What?"

"I didn't want to...ahh...finish so quickly..."

Malik half-giggled, half-moaned, nuzzling his nose against Bakura's. "If it makes you feel better, _habibi,_ I feel the same way."

"Are you c-close?"

"So fucking close," Malik whispered.

Bakura grinned up at him and drew him in for another deep kiss, smothering Malik's cries of pleasure with his tongue. He pumped faster, faster, desperate to feel Malik's ecstasy.

"Ba-Ba...Kura...fuck, oh, fuck..." Malik tore his mouth from Bakura’s to bury his face in his wild mass of white hair. A moment later Bakura felt the shudders in Malik's body, the pulse of his cock, as semen shot between their quivering bodies. But Malik didn't stop - he continued to pump Bakura frantically, slamming his fist up and down, until Bakura tossed his head back and cried out in completion.

For several blissful moments, all that could be heard in the room was their heavy pants, as both tried to regain their breaths.

_How the fuck did we go from arguing to jerking each other off?_

Once coherent thought returned, Bakura shoved Malik back with his free hand, wrinkling his nose. “What is it with you and messing up my clothes, Ishtar?”

Malik laughed as he licked a stray splash of semen off his knuckles. “Sorry. Got a little carried away, didn’t I?” He rolled towards Bakura, watching him change into a different set of clothes – a red hoodie this time, and another pair of black boxers. “But don’t pretend you’re innocent in all this.”

“My thoughts were jumbled,” Bakura muttered.

“Just from rubbing my back?”

“Yes.”

Malik snorted, disbelieving. “Whatever, Bakura. You’re full of crap.”

“And your back looks to be working properly again.”

“Oh yeah, it feels awesome.” Malik buttoned up his jeans, hopped out of bed, and breezed past Bakura, calling over his shoulder, “I’m using your shower, alright?”

“Don’t touch my stuff!” Bakura yelled at his retreating back.

“Fuck you, honey!”

_Dork._ Bakura grinned to himself as he grabbed his laptop and settled back into bed. For whatever reason, he felt so cheerful, he didn’t even entertain the thought of topping up his booze.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_Content warnings in this chapter for talks of body dysmorphia and a very brief mention of suicidal thoughts._ **

* * *

“What do you even _do,_ anyway?” Malik asked.

The sun had begun to set, casting a pinkish-orange glow throughout the sky. It reminded Bakura a little of the fruity sweets that Ryou used to buy from England as a teenager. A lone ray of dying light filtered through the window, illuminating Malik, who was curled up on the sofa, playing a game on his DS Lite, though his eyes currently blinked at Bakura from over the top of the game screen. 

“You honestly wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Bakura replied, typing one-handed on his laptop and sipping coffee with the other.

Malik raised an eyebrow. "Try me."

“I manage KaibaCorp’s accounts.”

“You’re fucking kidding me. How did you get a job like that?”

“I marched into Kaiba’s office and told him he fucking owed me big time for letting Yugi borrow that damn Cube," Bakura replied. "Stupid thing reacting with Ryou's voodoo bullshit is what landed my sorry ass back here. Anyway, Kaiba just laughed at me, but that annoying little brother of his was heading off to university and leaving his position vacant, so long story short, he gave me Mokuba’s job on the condition I work from home and never bother him again.” He shrugged. "Can't really complain. Pays well, and I don't have to see people."

“Sounds a decent deal. I didn’t know you were good with numbers.”

“Internet’s a godsend for researching how to do this stuff.” Bone-white fingers flew across the keys at blinding speed. “Ryou is quite the remarkable hacker. He got us all official documents when we returned, and scattered a few qualifications here and there.”

Malik nodded. “Rishid had to do the same thing for us when we came out of the tombs.” He closed his DS and leaned forwards, brushing his golden hair out of his eyes. He hadn’t applied any makeup after showering, and he looked quite peculiar to Bakura without the intricate outlining of kohl he usually wore. It made him younger, softer, a different sort of beautiful.

“I think you need to apologise to Ryou,” Malik said. “You said yourself you lash out when you’re angry. I know you didn’t mean what you said to him, and it would be easier for us all if – ”

“Not interested.”

“Bakura – ”

Bakura put his mug down, shaking his head. “I can’t apologise, because I can’t forgive him for what happened.”

A pouty scowl scrunched up Malik’s face. “It was an accident!”

“That doesn’t change the fact that it happened!” Bakura shoved his laptop aside, unable to concentrate any further. “I didn’t ask for this, Malik. I didn’t _want_ to be back in this fucking awful world, but here I am, and I’m trying to make the most of what I have, and I can’t _do_ that with you lot in my face all the time, trying to force me to change. Can’t you just leave me alone?”

“Not interested,” Malik parroted back. “Bakura, listen – it’s fine to be depressed. It’s fine to feel as though you’ve gone wrong somewhere down the line. What’s  _not_ fine is to be inflicting all that on other people, and that’s exactly what you’ve been doing. You might think shutting everyone out of your life means they don’t have to deal with it, but newsflash, honey – they do.”

Malik shuffled a little closer and rested his head on Bakura’s shoulder, toying with a stray thread on the hem of his shirt. “I’m not saying all this because I want to heal you or anything. Believe me, I know it doesn’t work like that. I can’t just snap my fingers and hooray, you’re cured, but just for once, can’t you let your walls down and talk about what’s wrong?”

“I…”

“It’s just me, Bakura. You can trust me.”

Soft lips graced Bakura’s cheek, a whisper of something so pure, so profound, it made Bakura’s heart hammer faster in his chest. He turned his head, catching Malik’s lips with his own. Without the fiery passion from earlier in the morning consuming them, Bakura could focus more on what he was doing and feeling; Malik’s lips, warm and sweet-tasting from the flavoured balm he wore, and the soft, happy noises Malik made as they kissed, long and slow. He wasn’t sure _why_ he craved such closeness from Malik, but he seemed happy enough to reciprocate, and that was good enough for Bakura to steal a few kisses and cuddles if it meant he felt more secure.

Malik was right. Bakura did trust him, trusted him with his life. The Egyptian beauty had been the only person he’d ever felt some sort of equal partnership with, even if he had been annoying as hell when they’d first met. That being said, Bakura doubted he had been much better. So yes, Bakura could trust Malik. But could he trust himself? Gods, wouldn’t it just be easier if he carried on making himself forget…?

_No. I guess he deserves to know._

Bakura pulled back from Malik and wiped his lips dry. “Alright. I’ll tell you what’s been bugging me ever since I came back.”

Malik nodded and settled back into his previous position, head on Bakura’s shoulder. “I’m all ears, _habibi.”_

Bakura didn’t think his heart could beat any faster, but away it went, so fast and hard it made him feel dizzy. His arms wrapped around Malik’s shoulders and he nestled closer, needing balance. Wordlessly, Malik returned the embrace, and when Bakura spoke again, his voice was hollow, empty.

“When Zorc possessed a part of me, I felt no guilt or shame. Everything had a purpose, and that was revenge, but…”

Bakura trembled and cursed himself for it. Talking about his feelings was unbearable already, but he couldn’t stop now he’d started, not with Malik and his fucking beautiful eyes staring at him like that.

“I feel everything now. Every single shred of regret that tells me, day after day, that I fucked up. Zorc used me, and I was too stupid to realise that until it was too late. I lost my battle, and my people could finally rest, but where was their justice? I gave them nothing, I hurt so many around me in the process, and for what?” Bakura paused a moment to exhale a trembling breath. “The booze comes in handy whenever I need to forget that it all happened…it’s the only way I can numb it all, you know?”

Malik didn’t respond, but he squeezed Bakura’s hand to show he was listening.

“Ryou blames himself, I know he does. We were drinking together, a few months after it all happened, and the _relief_...I can't even put it into words. All I could think about was grabbing onto that lack of feeling, and never letting go." Bakura shrugged. "So here I am, a drunken, nihilistic thief, destined to swig vodka and count numbers till the day I die. And to think, if I hadn’t lost my village, I’d probably have grown up to be as sweet as Ryou. Instead, I got stuck looking like him – which brings me to the next utter pain in the ass of life.”

Bile rose up in Bakura’s throat, hot, thick and seething with revulsion. “This isn’t my body. I hate it. This isn’t _me._ I see a stranger staring back at me whenever I see my reflection; do you have any fucking idea how distressing that is? I didn’t, not until I experienced it for the first time.”

Malik gasped. “Is _that_ why there are no mirrors in this place?”

“There was only one. I smashed it during a particularly bad day.”

“The one in the bathroom.”

“Mm.”

“Oh, Bakura…” Malik nuzzled Bakura’s cheek. Bakura wanted to push him away, but at the same time, he’d never needed the closeness more.

“I thought about…I thought about ending it a few times.” Bakura reached out for his mug of coffee, pressing it close to his chest. “Wouldn’t it be easy? To just step out in front of a train, or throw myself off a bridge? It really would. But…”

D _amn it, damn it all, why do my eyes feel so hot?_

“Do you fear death?” Malik asked. His eyes widened, dark and glittering, a stark contrast to the sudden pallor of his usually honeyed complexion.

“No. I fear the nothingness I’d be cast back into.” Bakura gulped down the remainder of his coffee and almost gagged from disgust at how cold the liquid was now. “Maybe, when I die, for real this time…I’ll be able to finally see my family again. But that’s only going to happen if I don’t make it happen myself, and every…e-every day it…”

Bakura sniffed, screwing his eyes shut. “Every day it gets h-harder, and…I don’t know…how m-much l-longer I can do this…”

Crashing was one thing, but this? No, this was too much to take, too embarrassing, and Bakura couldn’t stop the tears once they began dribbling down his cheeks. Holding his breath seemed to slow them, but then his chest hurt too much, and the trembling overwhelmed him, so he gave in, let himself go, clung to Malik and finally unleashed his lifetime of grief.

_Gods,_ he must have sounded pathetic, like a wounded animal, but Malik just held him close, let him cry till his throat was sore and his eyes burned like lava. The whole time, Malik stroked Bakura’s hair, fluttered kisses over his cheeks, whispered words in his comforting Arabic cadence that Bakura barely understood, but he felt the affection in Malik’s tone, and let it wash over him, calming him, grounding him back into stability.

Finally, the tears began to pass, and Bakura managed to take a deep enough breath to be able to speak again. “You went for help, but I won’t. I don’t want it. Who the fuck would understand all this? They don’t have the right to pry into my life and decide what needs to be done with me. So don’t even bother telling me I need to go to therapy, or throw a load of pills down my throat, because I won’t do it, Malik. I’m doing this on my own terms, do you hear me?”

The need for closeness passed, and Bakura wriggled out from Malik’s embrace, curling in on himself and hiding his face. Emotions were a pain in the ass. How did people _deal_ with this shit?

“Bakura.” Malik’s tone was even and gentle.

“I’m not looking at you right now.”

“Bakura.”

“Fuck _off,_ Ishtar.”

Malik snorted. “You’re such a dork, you know that?”

“Well, that makes two of us.”

“Indeed. A pair of dorks.” A pleasant tingle ran down Bakura’s spine as Malik gave his hair a ruffle. “Listen, _habibi…_ I can’t pretend that I understand everything you’ve been through, but some of it, I do. You talked about feeling guilt, now Zorc isn’t a part of you, and I definitely relate to that.”

Bakura raised his head. “You do?”

“Mm. It’s something I had to come to terms with once I relinquished the Millennium Rod, and once I realised I was the one who killed my father.” Malik readjusted his position on the sofa, hands clasped over his knees and eyes downcast. “I don’t think that guilt ever goes away. We just…deal with it better as time goes on, however we can best manage it. My mind started to dissociate, and you started drinking. That’s what worked best for us.”

“Well, it fucking sucks. Vodka is gross.”

“I'm inclined to agree.”

“I’ve tried to quit before, but it’s like my body just won’t let me.”

“Jeez, Bakura, you can’t just _quit._ That’s fucking dangerous, it could kill you.” Malik facepalmed, shaking his head in obvious exasperation. “Alright, here’s the deal. I respect your desire to not go and see a shrink about all this, but if you’re saying you want things to change, you have to let at least _someone_ help you out, and I really don’t think I can do this on my own – ”

“I said no – ”

“Dammit, shut up a minute! I was going to suggest Ryou.”

Bakura shook his head and buried it back in his knees. There was no way he could face Ryou again, and admit that everything around him was crumbling. The sweet young man didn’t deserve any more pain.

Malik continued talking, “Ryou’s got some real affinity with shadow magic up his sleeve…well, you experienced that for yourself when his occult fuckery managed to yank you from nothingness into his living room.” Malik pressed a few slow kisses up the side of Bakura’s neck, ending by nuzzling his ear fondly. “It sounds like you need to be told, directly from the source, that you did your very best for your people. I’m sure they know that, but your dumb ass needs to hear it from them.”

_That_ made Bakura raise his head again and sit a little straighter. “Are you implying what I think you’re implying?” 

The Egyptian smiled, his nose wrinkling in a stupidly adorable way as he did so. Reaching out, he stroked his fingers down Bakura’s cheek, wiping away the tracks left behind by his tears. _"Na'am, habibi."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_FYI: "na'am" is just "yes" in standard Arabic._ **


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_Have some Deathshipping smut. You're welcome!_ **

* * *

Silence most certainly could not be described as golden...not right now.

No clanging of metal on metal, no harshly growled swear words, no music, no live updates…just…nothing. Ryou used to love quiet, but now, it riddled him with anxiety.

With no motivation to liven the house up with a little noise, he pottered around, tidying and shifting his belongings around needlessly. He welcomed the distraction, helping to clear his mind. A dull headache throbbed across his brow from crying, and his jaw felt clenched no matter how much he tried to relax.

The familiar roar of a motorcycle outside made Ryou look up from the picture frame he was polishing. He frowned, then bit his lip worriedly as he tucked the polishing cloth into his pocket and made to flee upstairs.

His foot barely touched the top of the stairs when the front door banged open and the heavy stomp of Kek’s steel-toed boots strode through the house. Ryou sighed, slipping into their bedroom and shutting the door.

“Ryou? Are you home?” came the tentative call, and Ryou’s ears perked up. Kek’s voice held none of the sharp, irritated tone from their argument two nights ago. In fact, he sounded almost frightened.

Ryou exhaled a breath he didn’t realise he’d been holding and slowly opened the bedroom door again, poking his head around it. “Up here, love."

Kek came up the stairs two at a time, and Ryou gasped when he saw the state of his boyfriend. A deep scrape marred his cheek, the skin around it bruised and raw-looking. Forgetting their prior argument, Ryou rushed to Kek and flung his arms around his waist. “What happened?” Ryou asked. He had to lean back to look up at Kek, such was his height.

“I got angry,” Kek muttered, not meeting Ryou’s gaze.

“At work?”

“Mm.”

“How did you hurt your cheek?”

“Threw a broken pipe. It hit the wall and bounced back at me.” Kek poked his cheek with a sullen expression.

The childishness in Kek's manner was something Ryou had quickly grown accustomed to, the former alter being rather prone to outbursts of extreme emotion and grumpy periods of sulking. Ryou brushed his fingers over the broken skin and made a soft noise of empathy. “Why were you angry in the first place, love?”

“Didn’t sleep much last night. Sofa's lonely. I missed you.” Kek caught Ryou’s hand as it traced his injured cheek, and pressed it to his lips, nuzzling against him. “Gods, Ryou, I’m so sorry I shouted at you like I did. You’re right, I really am terrible. Do you hate me?”

“No, silly Kek,” Ryou smiled. “I could never hate you. I’m sorry I shouted at you, too. Emotions were running pretty high the other night, huh?”

“Yeah.” Kek clenched his free hand into a fist, face twisting up into a threatening scowl. “Fucking Bakura. If he wasn’t such a screw-up – ”

“This is on all of us, not just Bakura.” Ryou began pulling Kek towards the bathroom. “We don’t need to talk about that right now. Let me look at your cheek and give it a clean, okay?”

“Mmhm...okay.”

Kek flipped the lid of the toilet down and perched on it while Ryou inspected his injury properly. It wasn’t too deep, thankfully, but Kek winced the whole time Ryou cleaned him up. His reaction made Ryou giggle; his tough brute could withstand a heavy beating in a fist-fight, but squirmed and pouted if he got so much as a scratch at home.

“You’re adorable,” Ryou smiled. He dropped his head to give Kek a light kiss on the brow. Kek responded by grabbing Ryou’s hips and pulling him down into his lap, making Ryou squeak in surprise. "W-Whoa, careful! I don’t think this was made to take both our weights – _mmph!”_

Kek kissed Ryou fiercely, cutting off his sentence. His tongue pushed past Ryou’s lips and sought out his own, brushing over it in a tempting dance. Soon Ryou lost himself to the warmth and the passion radiating from his lover, and wrapped his arms round Kek’s neck, returning the kiss with vigour.

“I love you,” – Kek murmured between kisses, “so much,” – a hand fisted in Ryou’s hair, “and I don’t deserve you,” – he pulled away from Ryou’s lips to sink his teeth into his neck, “but gods, I need you...”

Ryou loved the rough treatment Kek lavished on him. He knew it meant he was coming back round to himself now, no longer in his regressed, childlike state. He writhed against Kek, groans of need slipping out of his mouth.

Kek stood, holding Ryou close, and Ryou instinctively wrapped his legs around Kek’s waist, holding on tightly. Kek carried Ryou through to their bedroom and deposited him not too gently on the bed before sliding atop him and returning to devouring his mouth. They ground against each other, only pausing to tug their clothing off and throw it carelessly to the carpet.

A pale hand shot out to the drawer beside the headboard, fumbling around inside blindly until Ryou felt what he needed. A quick, fumbling application of lube on his fingers, and then Kek was riding them eagerly, pressing up and down and gasping against Ryou’s soft, plump lips as their naked cocks rubbed together. 

“Maybe you should slow down,” Ryou murmured. “I don’t want to hurt you."

Kek grinned, amused at the suggestion. He sat straighter and snatched up the lube to pour a generous amount over Ryou’s shaft. “You could never hurt me, snowflake.”

As if to prove it, Kek pulled himself up, away from Ryou’s fingers in lieu of impaling himself on his lover’s cock. Ryou tossed his head back and moaned without restraint. Kek was tight and hot inside, and the way he immediately began circling his hips had every nerve in Ryou’s body set alight with mind-numbing sensation.

“Ryou, oh, Ryou,” Kek whispered as he bounced. His cheeks flushed a delightful shade of merlot, and a bead of sweat ran down his temple. With one hand he ran through his stiff spikes of blonde hair, and with the other he stroked himself, so excited and worked up that they both knew neither of them would last long.

Ryou ran his fingers up Kek’s chest, circling the slender digits around his nipples. His hips began shifting upwards in time with Kek’s movements, increasing the pleasure surging through his body and the volume of Kek’s cries. “You feel so good,” Ryou murmured. “Please don’t stop.”

“I won’t. I won’t.” Kek changed his angle, leaning back and rocking instead of bouncing. “Oh, Ryou! Oh, there, there!”

Ryou smiled up at his lover, and began hiking his hips a little harder. Kek’s moans became louder, louder, and his rhythm completely derailed in his lustful haze. Ryou took over, slamming his hips upwards and reducing Kek to wordless screams of euphoria. His hand flew up and down his shaft, pumping with frantic urgency until he seized up with a choked gasp and spilled over Ryou’s stomach and chest.

Their lips met for a brief kiss, and Ryou reached out for a pack of tissues on the bedside table. He wiped their bodies down, then their positions changed, Ryou sitting up and manoeuvring Kek onto his back. With one of Kek’s legs supported on Ryou’s shoulder, he thrust deep and slow, savouring Kek’s delicious heat. Pliant and satisfied, Kek closed his eyes and hummed happily, taking Ryou’s thrusts in stride.

“I-I’m close,” Ryou groaned. The fire in his belly began to spread downwards, waves of undulating pleasure that threatened to render him insensate with bliss. “Do you…should I…?”

Kek tapped his stomach with a cheeky smile. “Here,” he whispered.

Ryou pulled out, giggling. Dropping Kek’s leg from his shoulder, he straddled the opposite thigh and worked his hand up and down his cock, Kek rolling and massaging his balls. With their combined efforts, Ryou soon reached his peak, and he came with a jerk and an unabashed cry. Kek’s eyes rolled back in his head and he uttered a long, low sigh of contentment at the feel of Ryou’s release splattering his stomach.

Ryou crashed down on the mattress beside Kek, a broad smile lighting up his face despite the weariness in his tone. "Well, that was unexpected."

Kek laughed as he reached for the tissues again and mopped himself clean. "Just full of surprises, eh, snowflake?"

"I'm glad we're alright. We've never argued like we did the other day. I really was worried something bad would happen to us."

"Don't be silly." Kek gathered Ryou into his arms and pulled him close, dotting kisses over his alabaster brow. "I'd be completely lost without you, Ryou. I'd never let any fights get to the point that we'd split, because without you, I think I'd die."

"I love you so much, you know."

"And I love you, snowflake."

Ryou sighed happily ans nuzzled into Kek's chest, breathing in his unmistakeable scent - sweat, metal, and petrol. His eyes fluttered closed, but just as he was beginning to drift off, a clatter downstairs roused him, and he shot upright. "Did you leave the door open?" he asked Kek, who shook his head, looking confused. Ryou ran an exasperated hand over his face. "Then it's Bakura...why is he here?"

With a deep growl, Kek jumped off the bed and yanked his jeans on. "That fucker is getting my fist in his face for the way he spoke to you.”

"Kek, no," - Ryou began, but Kek was already marching downstairs. Groaning, Ryou hurriedly pulled on his own clothes and followed Kek as quick as he could before blood was spilled. Sharp words in rapid-fire Arabic met his ears, and though he understood little, he knew that Kek and Malik were arguing.

He found Kek at the bottom of the stairs, Malik leaning over the back of the sofa, and Bakura sat in the middle of the floor, poking the planchette of Ryou’s Ouija board around and scowling heavily at it. “Can someone please tell me what’s going on?” Ryou sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “I’m really not in the mood for more fights, people.”

Malik smirked. “Well, I can certainly tell what’s been going on with you two up there.”

“Like I said, they’re horrible at keeping quiet,” Bakura muttered.

Kek’s face went bright red. “How fucking long have you been here?!”

“About fifteen minutes,” Bakura replied.

“Oh my god, you two!” Ryou cried.

“Easy, easy,” Malik laughed. “Look, I couldn’t stop Bakura from coming over here, alright? I told him to give you some time, but you know what he’s like, he doesn’t listen to anyone.”

“Well, he’s the fuck out of here,” Kek growled. “I’ve had it with him upsetting Ryou all the time, so do us all a favour and cart his ass back the way you – ”

“I need your help,” Bakura said, so quietly that anybody else would have missed it, but the words were so alien-sounding from Bakura’s mouth that even Kek stopped in his tracks and stared.

Malik slipped off the sofa and sat next to Bakura, squeezing his hand. Ryou couldn’t help but smile at the light pink tinge that appeared on Bakura’s cheeks in response, and the way he leaned into Malik’s shoulder, closing his eyes.

_Something has definitely happened with these two since we last saw them. I’ve never seen Bakura willingly be so close to someone before._

“We’ve been talking,” Malik said, more to the room than anyone in particular, “and a lot has become clear since then. Everything that’s been up in the air for these last two years…it’s time to try and put it to rest, don’t you think?”

Kek frowned. “I’m confused.”

Malik looked up, his lavender gaze burning into Ryou’s. “Ryou, honey, can you still make contact with those who have passed on?”

The question surprised Ryou, and he descended the stairs, slipping around Kek to sit down in Malik’s vacated spot on the sofa. His eyes slid to the Ouija board on the floor and Bakura’s free hand still moving the planchette about, as if he could glean something from the movement alone.

“I haven’t tried…not since the confusion,” Ryou mused, “but I’ve kept myself sharp, and done my research…do you have someone in mind?”

Malik nodded. “Bakura’s mother.”

Ryou gasped, a hand to his mouth, and Bakura lowered his head again. Kek took over, slamming his hands on the back of the sofa and growling, “No! No, not this shit again! Last time anyone tried this, we all ended up being dragged out of the nether. You could end up rousing just about anyone, and I’m not having it. It’s too dangerous, Malik.”

“Kek, please hang on a moment.” Ryou patted Kek’s hand gently. “I understand where you’re coming from, but I’m more confident in my abilities now.”

He turned back to Malik and Bakura, fixing them with what he hoped was an intense stare, but with his big brown eyes, he probably just looked endearing. “I can give it a go, if you like. There’s no telling which spirits might make themselves known, though. I would need all of you to be on board and ready to accept that we could be contacted by spirits that aren’t welcome to us. Can you do that?”

Something twisted in Malik’s face, and Ryou knew he was thinking of his own father. Eventually, though, he nodded, and Kek gave a low noise of assent. Bakura didn’t look up, his face hidden by his hair.

“One more thing,” Ryou continued. “It would be best if our number were divisible by three. I don’t feel too comfortable conducting a séance with just four of us. I’d like to either make it three, or six. That means one of you sitting out, or me bringing in two more people.”

“I’m staying,” Malik said immediately.

“Guess I’ll stay as well, then,” Kek agreed.

“Bakura, you would of course need to be with me,” Ryou said, and Bakura nodded silently. “So this means I need two more people. I’ll phone Yugi later and see if he can bring Atem.”

“Fuck that!” Kek yelled.

“My séance, my rules, and if you don’t like it, then you can be the one who sits out, love,” Ryou said sweetly. Kek scowled, but said nothing more. “So, are we in agreement? If so, we can conduct the whole thing tomorrow night.”

Bakura looked up at Ryou, and the loss and despair in his gaze told Ryou more than any apology ever could. Seized by a sudden urge, he hopped off the sofa and swept Bakura into his arms.

The anger Ryou had felt towards him over the last few days fizzled out to a dim light in the corner of his mind as he stroked Bakura’s hair and whispered soft comforts to him. Bakura trembled, letting go of Malik’s hand to cling to Ryou’s shoulders. Quiet, sobbing breaths shuddered in his chest.

“Is this what you need to move on?” Ryou asked. “The closure?”

Bakura nodded and dug his fingers a little deeper into Ryou’s shirt. “Damn you,” he whispered. “Damn you all. You should have just left me to die in there. I don’t deserve this.”

“Gods, Bakura…I…” Ryou began to tremble now. Tears pricked his eyes as he kissed Bakura’s brow. “I’m sorry…I’m so sorry that it’s all come to this.”

Kek joined them on the floor, settling beside Malik. He said nothing, and Bakura gave no indication that he knew Kek was there, but when he raised his head from Ryou’s shoulder, his eyes sparkled with unshed emotion and his lip quivered as he beheld his friends.

“I need you,” Bakura choked out. “I need you all. I need to know that they’re all okay. I need to know that it’s okay to live my life without regret. I’m a drunk, and I’m weak, and a pathetic mess who doesn’t deserve any of your efforts, but I…”

He shook his head, blinking rapidly, but now the tears came, flooding his cheeks as his voice rose to an anguished wail. “I have to…I…please…I can’t carry on living like this. Please help me!”

 


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_This is a longer chapter, with two POVs from Ryou and from Bakura. I hope you all enjoy meeting a very special character here!_ **

Being in touch with his occult side always brought out a peculiar excitement in Ryou, something he really only shared with Yugi, fellow fascinated young man of the creepy and creative. Luckily, Yugi took no convincing in attending the séance, and Atem had given his word as well.

After their afternoon lectures at university, Yugi accompanied Ryou out shopping to buy the necessary items for preparing the ritual. They drove out to a sprawling market in the next city over, where Ryou’s favourite “apothecary” stood – it really was just a herb and spice vendor, but Ryou frequented it whenever he dabbled in the worlds beyond their own, so it might as well have been something magical.

“We _are_ leaving that accursed Cube well out of this, right?” Yugi gave a slightly shaky laugh as he asked.

Ryou crouched in front of a display, inspecting bundles of white sage. “I would assume so, considering we gave it back to Kaiba, and you know how he feels about all this sort of stuff.”

“He isn’t so bad with it these days,” Yugi replied. “I think Isis opened his mind to it a little more once all that business with Aigami was over.”

“Mm,” Ryou nodded. He reached out and picked up a sage bundle, turning it over in his hands. “There won’t be any of that going on this time, hopefully. It’ll be an interesting night, to say the least. I hope you’re all prepared for anything unexpected.”

“We need to keep any negative energy away, right?”

“Exactly, so it’s okay to be nervous, but I can’t have anyone freaking out in the middle of the séance or everything could go completely pear-shaped. Will Atem be alright?”

“Yeah, he’s seen worse stuff than a few spirits."

Ryou picked up a few more bundles and settled them into the wicker basket hanging in the crook of his arm before standing and moving on to the next aisle. They added salt and whole cloves to the basket, then Ryou paid for everything and they moved on to the next store for candles, incense, and essential oils. Afterwards, they took a break from all the “occult fuckery” as Malik so fondly called it, by stopping for a drink in a cosy café, and when evening dimmed the sky and chilled the air, they headed back to Ryou’s car and made the drive to Domino to begin the bigger preparations.

Malik and Bakura had stayed the night after the events of the previous day. With Bakura in his delicate state, Ryou hadn’t wanted him to leave, so they’d just ended up playing games until dawn and they all crashed out on the living room floor. When Ryou and Yugi walked into the house, laden with shopping bags, they found the pair napping on the sofa, arms round each other and Malik’s head tucked under Bakura’s chin. Something about the way Bakura’s hand rested underneath Malik’s shirt, in direct contact with the scars Ryou knew Malik never let anybody touch, made Ryou’s heart skip an ecstatic beat.

Yugi stifled a giggle behind his hand as they snuck upstairs into the bedroom Ryou and Kek shared. “They look so sweet together!” Yugi whispered excitedly; Ryou couldn’t help but nod in agreement. “Are they a couple now, or…?”

Ryou shrugged. “Goodness knows what they are, and don’t even think of asking Bakura. I really don’t want to be scrubbing blood out of my carpet.”

“Have they kissed?”

“Yugi!” Ryou laughed. “Gods, you’re like a high school kid!”

“Shush, you! Have they kissed?”

Ryou nodded, still laughing. “They’re smitten with each other. The amount of times I walked into the living room yesterday and found them sucking face…I’ve lost count!” He wasn’t even exaggerating, and he was certain they’d been doing it mostly to piss Kek off, but the way Malik and Bakura acted as though they couldn’t get enough of each other had to be more than just for show.

Yugi began pulling their purchases out of the bags surrounding them. “It’ll be good to finally put all this behind us.”

“And it only took two years for it to start coming together, huh?”

“Thank goodness Malik’s around. If anyone could have cracked Bakura’s shell, it’s him.”

Ryou couldn’t disagree with that. He opened a nearby cupboard and pulled out a crystal jar, removing the lid so Yugi could pour a generous amount of coarse salt into it. Ryou then dropped a handful of cloves inside, spoke a few brief blessings and incantations over the jar, and set the lid back on securely.

They went back downstairs, where Yugi lit one of the sage bundles, and carried it throughout the house, whispering his own blessings as he did so. Everything had to be as cleansed and purified as possible, in case any unwanted spirits deemed them an easy target during the séance.

Ryou began arranging a comfortable circle of plush cushions in the centre of the living room and set the jar of salt and cloves in the centre of that. Later, once everybody was present, he would add flowers. Finally, he retrieved his divining crystal from outside, which he had left sitting under the moonlight of last night, in a bowl of salt to charge. He placed the bowl beside the salt jar, a melodic tinkling brightening the quiet in the room as the two materials bumped together.

The noise roused Bakura, who opened his eyes with a soft groan. Ryou looked up at him and smiled. “Hi, Kura. Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Bakura shifted onto his side, causing Malik to roll off him with a grumbled protest. Bakura eyed the arrangement before him with a suspicious expression. “Do you really need to go through this much effort just to chat with a ghost?”

“Yes, if I don’t want to attract poltergeists or worse,” Ryou replied smoothly.

Malik cracked open an eye to glance about briefly, closed it again, and nestled back into Bakura’s chest. Bakura raised a hand to Malik’s hair, combing his fingers through it. “Ryou, I…I have to admit, I’m nervous as fuck about this,” he whispered. “What if it goes wrong? What if nobody answers?”

Ryou sighed sadly. “That’s just the nature of these things. All we can do is try. Are you sure you want to go through with it?”

“After all that ridiculous crying I did yesterday? You bet your ass I do.”

That made Ryou smile, and he leaned forward to ruffle Bakura’s hair. “That’s the spirit, Kura.”

“Get the hell off my hair, you dork.”

Yugi wandered in, the sage bundle in his hand still wafting smoke. “I’m nearly done,” he told Ryou. “Will you want to burn a little more later on tonight?”

“Yes, just in case. Thank you, Yugi. You really didn’t have to go through the trouble of helping me out.”

“Don’t be silly,” Yugi smiled sweetly. “You know I like to help you.”

Bakura yawned and sat up, jostling Malik further. The half-asleep Egyptian growled in the back of his throat, sounding remarkably like Kek, and finally pushed himself upright, rubbing his eyes. “What the fuck, Bakura?” he muttered. Then he noticed the array of cushions and Ryou kneeling in the middle of them. “Oh, is it that time already?”

“Not yet,” Ryou replied. “Kek should be on his way home now, and Atem won’t be far behind – ”

The roar of a motorbike outside cut Ryou off. The front door opened, and Kek shouted a quick greeting in the hallway before disappearing upstairs to shower and change. Atem wandered in a few moments later, dreadlocks hanging loosely over his shoulders and eyes outlined immaculately with smoky kohl. “Kek saw me walking and gave me a ride the rest of the way,” he shrugged, in response to everybody’s flabbergasted stares. “I’m still alive, somehow.”

“What a fucking shame,” Bakura spat.

The corner of Atem’s mouth lifted in an arrogant smirk. “Ah, Bakura. Even in love, you never change, do you?”

“Fuck you, Pharaoh. Why is everyone acting like I’m some lovestruck sap all of a sudden?”

“Bakura, you’re holding my hand and stroking it with your thumb,” Malik pointed out.

“I fucking hate you all!” Bakura dropped Malik’s hand like it was hot and stormed off to the kitchen. Clattering china and running water met their ears moments later, and the group of young men burst out laughing at the realisation that Bakura was making them all drinks to get them off his back.

Ryou wiped tears of mirth from his eyes. “Well, if that hasn’t imbued some positive energy into this space, I will eat my Monster World board! Yugi, would you please burn some more sage? Keep away from the bathroom, though. I know he’s sexy, but I don’t think Kek will much appreciate you walking in on him while he’s showering."

* * *

Holy fuck, did all that sage smell awful. It seemed to work, though. As Bakura settled down on his chosen cushion – the red and gold one, his favourite colours - he could feel the cleanliness of the surrounding air, and an almost holy glow emanating from the salt jar Ryou carried around the room. He chanted under his breath and made peculiar sweeping gestures with his hands; Bakura had no idea what Ryou was aiming to do, but whatever it was, he could feel the effects all around him. It was oddly calming after so many years lost to despair.

Yugi lit a few sticks of incense in the corner of the room and fanned the smoke out towards everybody. “We’re nearly ready to begin,” he said quietly. “Does anybody have any questions or worries? It would be best to tell us now.”

“Yeah, can we move his royal Assface to the other side of the room?” Kek muttered, shooting a glare at Atem. Bakura approved of the insult.

Atem, cross-legged on his cushion and leaning his head against the sofa, grinned at Kek. “So _angry,”_ he chided playfully. “It’s such a shame you just can’t let go of all that past hatred, Kek. I would have thought being around Ryou so much would calm you down. Clearly, getting on with your love’s friends isn’t as important to you as it should be.”

Yugi scowled at Atem. _“Mou hitori no boku,_ you are astonishingly childish.”

“Ah…I’m sorry, _aibou.”_

Kek cackled. “Hey, Bakura! Now who’s the one who’s whipped?”

“I believe one has to be dating another to be “whipped,” Atem replied drily.

Malik flicked a runaway clove in Atem’s direction. “You and Yugi might as well just fuck already,” he smirked. “He’s forever batting his eyelashes at you. Why haven’t you?”

Atem spluttered, going bright red, and Yugi almost dropped his stick of incense. Bakura burst out laughing, and Atem whacked him with a cushion in response.

“If any vengeful or mischievous spirits end up coming in here, I am blaming you, Kek,” Ryou sighed as he set the salt jar back down in the centre of the cushions. “And don’t think you aren’t off the hook either, Atem, so you better not give me that shit-eating grin, or I will wipe it off the next time we play Monster World.”

Atem chuckled. “Your threats would be much more powerful if you weren’t so adorable.”

Ryou smiled at that as he fussed with the jar. “Yugi, when you’re quite finished charring my carpet with incense, would you please dim the lights? I’m going to light the candles now and add the flowers.”

As the lights dimmed, Bakura felt a sudden urge to hold Malik. He’d seen that Malik was no longer averse to darkness, but the impulse was strong enough that he didn’t want to hold himself back, and the prospect of absorbing Malik’s warmth was too much to resist. He tugged Malik a little closer and wound his arms round his waist, nuzzling his ear with his nose.

“Nervous?” Malik whispered.

“A little,” Bakura admitted.

Malik leaned back into Bakura’s touch and raised a hand to caress his pale cheek. “It’ll be alright, _habibi._ We’re all here for you, okay?”

Bakura’s heart thudded hard in his chest, loving the tender touch, loving the affectionate Arabic pet name, and hating himself for being so fucking soft around Malik. Safe in the hope that nobody could see them, he began trailing kisses up the soft, delectable expanse of Malik’s neck. The Egyptian’s pulse, his _ib,_ his blessed life, throbbed beneath his lips and he couldn’t hold back from running his tongue over it, feeling Malik shiver against him in response.

To think that just days ago, he had been pushing everybody in his life away, intent on remaining alone till his dying days…and now here he was, holding a beautiful young man in his arms, letting people who really were his friends – no matter how much he protested – attempt to contact the spirits of his family, and…well…the only way Bakura could describe how he was feeling was content. He’d been drinking, of course, but the need to practically gulp the stuff down hadn’t even entered his thoughts all day. If it could stay that way, that would be fucking great, as far as he was concerned, because vodka really was gross.

The crackle of flames interrupted Bakura’s well-intentioned exploration of Malik’s perfect skin, and he drew back to see Ryou lighting tall candles, one by one. He arranged white chrysanthemums around the salt jar, anointed each blossom with a droplet of what smelled like myrrh oil, and took his position on his cushion. "Are we all ready?" he asked.

Murmurs of assent followed his words.   
"Good. Please join hands and complete the circle. I know not everybody gets along here, but for Bakura's sake, and for our safety from vengeful spirits, please put this aside for now."

Even with Ryou's words, Bakura had to resist pretending to throw a tantrum at the prospect of holding Atem's hand. Atem extended a ring-embellished hand easily enough, but it took several seconds for Bakura to take it.

With the circle joined, Ryou closed his eyes, and bade everybody do the same.   
"We will begin the séance now. Please don't be alarmed if anything out of the ordinary occurs around us. Spirits don't often communicate overtly like the living do, and it could take several minutes for someone to appear to us.” Ryou’s voice had taken on a strange tone, almost formal, too formal even for his usual manner of speech. “Once I sense the presence of a spirit, we can let go of each other’s' hands, and then I will use either the crystal or the board to communicate with them. If you have questions for them, please limit them to those that can be answered with "yes" or "no" unless the spirit wishes to communicate in a more complex manner."

Ryou's voice now dropped to a husky whisper, an otherworldly, ethereal tone that sent chills down Bakura's spine.   
"Blessed spirits, dwellers of the life beyond life, we invite you to our circle. Those among us wish to speak with you. If you would like to spend some time with us, please do not be afraid to do so. Your presence is welcome here. We offer warmth and light; we offer pleasant scents; we offer clarity and purity. This space is safe for you.”

Bakura realised a moment too late that he was squeezing Atem and Malik’s hands, but he couldn’t loosen his grip, wouldn’t. The next moment could be everything, and he wished, good fucking heavens, he wished he remembered his mother’s name, because then Ryou could have addressed her directly, but he couldn’t even remember his own, let alone that of the woman who raised him. Ryou didn’t seem to mind the casual theft of his family name, nor did he mind that he had no names to go by in the séance. Surely, he would have all this under control.

Several minutes ticked by. Nothing much seemed to be happening, or if it was, Bakura couldn’t feel anything, and Ryou, with his eyes still closed, gave no indication.

It had to work…right? Nobody in the room thought that contacting the dead was bullshit, they knew it could be done, Ryou had done it before. All they could do was wait.

Ryou’s eyes flickered open, and his face split into a broad smile. “Ah!” he exclaimed. “Hello! You crept in very quietly, didn’t you? Please don’t be afraid. Nobody here will harm you. You’re very welcome to come into our circle.”

Everybody looked at each other, clearly surprised. Bakura certainly hadn’t felt anything, and by the look of things, nor did anyone else. Ryou dropped Yugi’s hand, signalling that it was okay to let go of each other now; Bakura made a show of wiping his left hand on his jeans, and Atem raised an eyebrow at him, but said nothing.

Ryou picked up his divining crystal, an intricately-cut gemstone hanging from a slender cord. He held it in front of him and said, “Do you have a connection to somebody here in this room?”

After a moment, the crystal gently swung forwards and backwards. Presumably, that meant something to Ryou, since he nodded in response and looked quite pleased.

“Would you be willing to spell out your name on my board? It would be lovely if we could directly address you.”

The crystal swung once more, and Ryou set it into its salt bowl before pulling the Ouija board before his crossed legs. “My board uses English characters. If you have difficulty with it, then please tap the planchette on the board, and we can find another way for you to tell us your name. Otherwise, please take your time. There’s no rush.”

It was so quiet in the room that even the group’s breathing seemed to have stopped. A painful, deadened chill froze Bakura’s heart. Who was amongst them? How did Ryou know that someone was here? Surely he could have just been ever so slightly moving the crystal by himself?

Bakura’s tinge of scepticism was blasted away the moment he saw the planchette start to move by itself.

_**M-A-R-Y-A-M----N-A-B-I-L-A----I-S-H-T-A-R** _

Malik certainly would have screamed, had he not been concerned with prematurely ending the séance. He reached out to clutch Bakura’s arm, fingers digging in hard. On the other side of the circle, all colour had drained out of Kek’s face and he quivered visibly. His eyes darted around the room, as if hoping to see a flicker of movement somewhere. Meanwhile, Yugi and Atem exchanged sombre glances.

Ryou picked up his crystal again. “Maryam Nabila Ishtar. We welcome you to our circle. Is there anything you wish to express to us?”

Still nothing seemed to be going on around them. Kek and Malik gazed at each other, looking lost and confused. Bakura screwed up his face in frustration, ready to yank himself out of the circle and proclaim the whole thing as a waste of time –

But then he _felt_ it - the sudden chill in the air, the whisper of breath past his cheek, and he gasped, palm jumping to cradle his face as if the sensation stung.   
A moment later, the chill passed, and Malik gave a soft cry and dropped Bakura’s arm.

 _“Mama?”_ Malik’s own hands reached out, clutching at empty air, and his breath stuttered in his lungs. Had he felt what Bakura felt?

What eventually came out of his mouth was a jumble of Egyptian Arabic and his archaic tomb-keeper dialect; barely coherent, but the circle knew enough to collectively understand his words.

 _“Mama_ , I…I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I know it wasn’t my fault, but…please forgive me for taking you from us.” Malik sniffed and wiped his eyes, chest shuddering with painful sobs. “I never knew you…I wish I could have known you…how can you miss someone you never knew? But I do. I miss you, _Mama._ So much has happened in the last few years, and I-I…if you had been there…”

Malik shook his head and pressed his knuckles to his eyes, unable to speak anymore. Nobody could move for fear of breaking the circle, but their hearts surely went out to him, and Bakura stroked his arm gently, all he could think of to comfort his friend.

For a time, all that could be heard was Malik’s shaky breathing. Ryou had closed his eyes briefly, but now he opened them and looked first to Malik, then Kek. “Your mother wants you to know that she was never in any pain, and that she loves you both dearly.”

“E-Even me?” Kek croaked.

“Yes, you as well, Kek. You are as much her son as Malik is. She says you are very special, and that she is proud of you for living your life without the fear that created you.”

Kek covered his mouth, desperately trying to quell his sobs, but it was fruitless. With a noise like splitting wood, he burst into tears and flung himself out of the circle, straight into Malik’s arms.

“Really?!” Bakura yelled. Fuck, there was _not_ enough booze in the world to deal with a crying hunk of muscle like Kek.

“Kek!” Yugi flapped his hands urgently. “Kek, you need to get back into the circle!”

“Fuck you, I’m h-having a moment here,” Kek hiccupped.

“Ryou!” Atem hissed. “Ryou, you need to regain control or something bad is going to happen.”

But Ryou didn’t look to be paying attention. The moment Kek’s tears began to fall, he dropped his eyes to the floor, and hadn’t moved an inch since.

“Ryou!” Atem said again, imitating Yugi’s flapping hands. Still no response.

Kek lifted his head. “R-Ryou?”

“Oh god, he’s been possessed,” Yugi gasped. “Kek, get back in the circle! Ryou’s possessed!”

“Oh, fuck me sideways,” Bakura moaned.

“Now, now. That sort of language really is unbecoming of you, _iahneferu.”_

Bakura’s head snapped up. It was Ryou who had spoken, but the voice didn’t seem entirely his, and that word... _iahneferu?_ It stirred up the same peculiar feelings he grasped onto tightly whenever he tried to remember his childhood. 

Bakura stared at Ryou, waiting for him to talk again, but when he next did, it wasn’t to anybody corporeal; he turned to the side and nodded to the air. “I believe I have the situation under control, Lady Ishtar. They certainly are a rowdy lot! Boys, am I right?”

Ryou giggled, and yet again the voice coming from his mouth had a strange tone to it; feminine, yet brusque, throaty, and not inclined to take any nonsense. It was so far removed from Ryou’s usual manner of speaking. What sort of vile demon had chosen to possess the sweet boy?

Malik wiped Kek’s eyes and pressed a kiss to the tip of his nose. “Back into the circle, _akhun,”_ he murmured.

With a shy nod, Kek obeyed, slinking back to Ryou’s side. He took hold of Ryou’s hand, but the white-haired male took no notice, his eyes trained firmly on Bakura. 

“Well, you look different, that’s for sure, but there’s no mistaking my little boy. My, my…Bakhure, how you’ve grown.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_“iahneferu” is an Ancient Egyptian term I cobbled together that roughly means “the moon is beautiful."_ **


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_Another wonderful art piece by Ariasune will accompany this chapter - I'll post it within once Aria has uploaded it to Tumblr. PS - AO3 did that stupid thing again where it kept all my drafts from previews and fucked up my chapter order, so sorry if anyone gets a notification saying this was chapter 17; that one will be tomorrow._ **

* * *

Bakhure?

The sudden change of pronunciation…what on earth was Ryou talking about?

Malik’s chest hurt from crying, and his eyes burned, his cheeks wet and itchy, but in his confusion, he forgot about it all. Ryou sat there with his weirdly glassy eyes, staring straight at Bakura who looked as if he’d just been punched in the gut. Yugi and Atem blinked at each other, just as perplexed, and Kek looked back and forth between Bakura and Ryou with an anxious gaze as he worried at his lip with his teeth. If Ryou really had been possessed, it was nothing like the way he would act whenever Bakura took over his body.

But the way Bakura had seized up now as he stared back at Ryou…it was as though he recognised something within him. “Why are you speaking through Ryou?” Bakura demanded. “Who are you?”

Ryou shrugged. “Moving little bits of wood around and swinging crystals is fun, but when someone in the room holds inherent psychic powers, it’s much easier to slip into their skin and communicate directly like this. I came along with Lady Ishtar, but given that emotions were running a little high, I stayed back for the time being." The words Ryou spoke were in colloquial, bastardised Middle Egyptian, which was odd, since Malik knew that Ryou wasn’t completely fluent in the ancient tongue yet. "Don’t worry, you won’t be interrupted by any other spirits. We have the circle well protected.” 

“Who are you?” Bakura repeated.

“So demanding! Oh, there’s the angry little one I remember, and yet, you don’t remember _me!”_ Ryou faked wiping away a tear, grinning. “My name is Meritaweret Mes-en Aya. Meryt is just fine, though."

Bakura didn’t respond for a moment, blinking a few times, never moving his gaze.

Then his lips lifted into a broad smile, even as tears filled his eyes. _“Mut…_ well I’ll be damned, it only took you over three-thousand years to find me again,” he whispered.

 _Mut!_ Malik held a hand to his mouth. _Bakura’s mother! She's here..._

“It’s a little difficult to find people when you’re dead,” Ryou – no, Meryt – smirked. Well, there was certainly no mistaking where Bakura got his natural snark from. “Still, here I am now…and if I weren’t speaking through the mouth of this lovely boy, I’d be giving you three-thousand years’ worth of cuddles and embarrassing mama-bear kisses.”

“Please don’t,” Bakura laughed, “not in front of the children.”

“Hey, fuck you!” Kek snapped.

“Fuck _you,_ you paranoid maniac!”

“Peace, peace,” Meryt smiled. “Ah, but Bakhure…how tall and strong you are now! Though you do look as though you’ve been dunked head-first into a barrel of mare’s milk…not sure how I feel about that. You were ever so cute with a tan, moonbeam.”

Bakura’s face blushed bright red as the circle grinned and giggled. “I was so not prepared for this.” Malik ruffled his hair affectionately, feeling his adoration for the former thief soaring by the minute.

The spirit in Ryou’s body looked to the ceiling, as if watching something far away, invisible to the living. “It’s strange to be present in the mortal world. As if I’m disconnected from reality.”

Bakura nodded. “Welcome to my life. Every day’s a disconnection from reality.”

“Ah, but that’s because you should have joined us in the Field of Reeds when we passed on. You were meant to come home with your family, after everything you did for us. Instead, that foul darkness sank its claws into a part of you and held tight. We’ve been watching, Bakhure; we know how difficult it’s been for you these last few years.”

 _“Mama?"_ Bakura looked confused.

“I suppose what I’m trying to say is…your being is incomplete in its current state. Your disconnection will continue for as long as your soul is fragmented. At least, that’s what we’ve managed to figure out together, Lady Ishtar and I.”

Malik’s head had been ever so slightly bowed as he listened to Meryt’s words, but now it snapped straight up. “My mother? Is she still here?” he asked.

“Yes, she’s here,” Meryt nodded, and gestured to somewhere near Malik’s shoulder. A moment later, a tingling sensation tickled its way down his arm, reminiscent of the way Bakura would absently caress him during an embrace. He closed his eyes, savouring the feeling, of knowing she was close. “She’s quite the perceptive one, your mother,” Meryt smiled. “We’ve spent a lot of time together...or have we? I don’t really know. Time passes so oddly in _Aaru.”_ Meryt paused a moment to pick up the divining crystal, turning it over in her hands. “Malik, was it? You’re remarkably beautiful. You would have been eaten alive by the village girls back in our day. Boys too, most likely.”

Malik managed a nervous chuckle. “I feel like I should be flattered.”

“I’m just teasing you, precious. You’re very well suited for Bakhure.”

Bakura buried his head in his knees as Malik laughed with more confidence. “If I’d have known talking to my mother again would be this embarrassing, I’d have tossed myself back into the shadows without a second thought,” Bakura muttered.

“If I may...is there a reason you call him “Bakhure?" Atem piped up. He’d been watching the scene before him with wide, curious eyes, but now it seemed the urge to speak overcame his wariness.

Meryt turned to face the former Pharaoh, and the gravity of his very presence became apparent by the way his face paled the moment Meryt’s brows furrowed. Despite his obvious fear, he drew himself up and met her gaze proudly, never wavering. Malik had to admire his steadfastness, even respect him for it. Atem really wasn’t so bad these days, after all.

“The Pharaoh still walks amongst you all,” Meryt finally whispered. “What do you have to say for yourself, boy?”

Atem inclined his head. “Great matriarch, I did not do enough to save the people of my country. We failed Kul Elna and sullied your existence. A thousand apologies will never suffice, and I do not expect you to forgive me.”

Meryt nodded slowly. “You regained your _ren."_ It was a statement, not a question.

“I did.”

“Speak your name.”

“Atem, great matriarch.” The reverence and respect in Atem’s tone held a profound, sincere note. As the syllables left his mouth, the air hummed with deep, ancient magic, the power of the avatar of the gods himself. Malik couldn’t help but shiver at the sensation.

Meryt was silent a moment, eyes never leaving Atem. Then she sighed quietly, her gaze growing softer. “The power of names still stands to this day. So you must understand, better than anyone else here, why I call my son by name. The second death is fear itself, a fear I will not allow Bakhure to be privy to ever again."

Atem clasped his hands before him. "I experienced this for myself, my lady. I...I empathise. Pay no need to my prior ignorance."

The skin around Meryt's eyes crinkled in sudden amusement. "Khonsu strike me down, for the Pharaoh prostrates himself before the mortals. Don't be so formal, boy; it'll age that handsome face of yours."

Yugi patted Atem's arm, giggling. "You heard Bakura's mama, _mou hitori no boku."_

Bakura raised his head from his knees and brushed his hair from his face. “Bakhure…gods, I haven’t heard that name spoken in so long...”

“So that’s your real name?” Yugi asked.

“Seems so,” Bakura replied drily. He wound his arms around one of Malik’s and drew himself in close; Malik could practically feel the overwhelming emotion and confusion radiating from his lover.

Bakhure…in the old tongue, it meant “sunrise.” A powerful name, a tale of the mountains in which Apep would lie in wait to ambush the god of the sun, and how he would be foiled time and time again, for light to return with the dawn. Apt, really, and ironic, for the former embodiment of darkness himself to be imbued with such a name. Malik couldn’t believe he hadn’t noted the similarity of Ryou’s surname sooner.

Malik pressed a brief kiss to Bakura's brow before turning back to Meryt. “So,” he said, “if Bakura’s soul is fragmented, then all we need to do is put the parts back together? You’ve given him his _ren_ back…his _sheut,_ and possibly his _ba,_ are with us now. The rest is…”

Meryt nodded. “You’re on the right lines. His _ka, ib,_ and _ha,_ the body itself…that’s what Bakhure is missing. I have reunited him with his _ren,_ and there’s one more piece I can give, but the rest you will have to figure out on your own. Can’t run around doing everything for you boys now, can I?” Meryt winked, the corner of her mouth lifting in a cheeky smile.

“What else can you do?” Kek asked.

Meryt beckoned to Bakura. “Come closer, _iahneferu,_ and give me your hands.”

Bakura hung on a little tighter to Malik, brow furrowing. Malik gave him a gentle push with his free hand. “Go on, _habibi._ Not a scaredy-cat, are you?”

“Fuck you,” Bakura scowled. He wrenched himself free from Malik and crawled over to the spirit of his mother in Ryou’s body. He held out his hands, and Meryt took them in her own. “I swear, _mama,_ if you blast me with some accursed magic, I am tearing my way into the afterlife and kicking all your asses, gods and parents be damned.”

“I’ll try not to hex you too much,” Meryt smirked. “Close your eyes, Bakhure, and concentrate on your inner power.”

A light whisper of breath slipped around Malik, and he found himself flexing his fingers, resisting the urge to reach out towards the source. It was surreal, knowing his mother was still nearby, but he couldn’t see her, or hear her. He wondered why she was staying around. Was it for him and Kek? Or was she helping Meryt? He couldn’t be sure.

Meryt’s lips moved in a soundless chant, and she swayed back and forth gently. Gradually, her voice built up, from whisper to murmur to full-blown, deep, haunting song. Her words made fire erupt in Malik’s belly and ice sear his veins, triggering some sort of wild passion he’d never felt before. It was intoxicating and had him craving to feel more. Across the circle, Kek looked similarly enraptured, while Yugi and Atem whispered excitedly to each other.

 Malik took a deep breath, closed his eyes a moment, and composed himself as best he could. Something about the thrumming magic in the air made him want to drag Bakura back to his apartment and ravish him.

Then it was over, and Bakura was drawing back, breathing heavily. Meryt gave him a gentle smile, then reached out and ruffled his hair, much as Malik had done. “I’m proud of you,” she said. “Few could have survived the way you did, out there on your own. I hope you find peace someday…as we have.”

Bakura nodded, swallowing. His voice was thick when he managed to respond. “I’m going to try. I think…it might be easier now.”

“Good. You deserve some happiness, you silly thing.” Meryt looked to the side and nodded at the air. “Our time’s just about up here, I think. I’ll let your friend back into himself now; do me a favour and thank him for taking care of you all these years, won’t you?”

 _“Mut_ …I…”

Bakura’s composure finally began to break. Holding himself together in Meryt’s presence, maintaining his usual sarcastic attitude, must have been incredibly difficult. No tears fell, but his voice cracked, and he shivered as he wrapped his arms round his middle and curled in on himself. “I won’t forget this, _mut_. I won’t forget any of it.”

Meryt nodded. “I would hope not! Not after everything we went through to give him back to you.”

“Thank you.”

“It’s up to you now, Bakhure. Next time I see you, I want you all brown and beautiful again, do you hear me?” She shot Malik a cheeky smile, which he returned. “Just remember…when everything becomes too much…all you have to do is call.”

Bakura sniffed quietly. “Bye, _mama,”_ he whispered. “See you on the other side.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that. I might be around sooner than you think!”

And with that, Meryt’s presence was gone. Malik felt a final brush of cool air over his cheek, before the magic in the air dissipated, and he knew both the spirits had left. A bittersweet pang of longing and sorrow ached in his chest for the women he never could have known.

Bakura gave a choked cry and reached out, but when he grabbed the shoulders of the body in front of him, it was Ryou gazing back at him, not his mother.

“Bakura? Is everything okay?”

The last of Bakura’s self-restraint visibly shattered, and he buried his head in the crook of Ryou’s neck and sobbed his broken heart out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_“Meritaweret” is another Ancient Egyptian name I threw together, meaning “Beloved of the Great One” or “Beloved of Taweret,” who is an Egyptian goddess of childbirth and fertility. "Mes-en" is a naming convention loosely meaning "of the mother," and the name I used in the rough draft for Meryt was originally "Aya." So her full name essentially translates into "Beloved of the Great One, of the body of Aya."_ **


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_The moment you've all (most likely) been waiting for - the Thiefshipping lemon. Have fun!_ **

* * *

“God fucking dammit, I am so over this crying bullshit now,” Bakura muttered as they walked.

His eyes did look a bit red and sore, but otherwise, he’d recovered well from the séance. After helping Ryou put everything away, he'd decided to go straight home, and given how emotional and shaken up Bakura had been from the ritual, they all agreed it was probably for the best.

Malik chuckled and slipped an arm around Bakura’s shoulders, giving him an affectionate squeeze. “Hey, don’t worry about it. It wasn’t even that embarrassing, given that Atem got royally schooled by your mother. I think that tops everything that just happened in there.”

Bakura’s lips lifted in a sly smirk. “Yeah, that was pretty good, actually. He’s probably never looked humble in his life before that.”

"Do you feel alright now?"

"I'm fine, Ishtar. Stop babying me." Despite his tone, Bakura raised a hand to his shoulder, running his fingertips gently over Malik’s, and Malik nuzzled his head against Bakura's a moment, happy and content with his friend.

They walked the rest of the way back in silence. The entrance to the apartment building had had its lock "conveniently" broken again, so there was no climbing through the window pane this time. Bakura unlocked his front door and disappeared into the kitchen while Malik slipped off his jacket and tossed it over the back of the armchair. He walked through to the kitchen and poured a glass of water; Bakura, pouring his own drink from the bottle on the counter, barely paid him any attention. "Your mother said something earlier that I didn't understand," Malik said. "She said something about giving "him" back to you. What did she mean?"

Bakura lifted his glass to his lips and sipped lightly. "I'll show you later. My head's still all over the place."

"I thought you said you were fine?"

"Bite me, Ishtar."

Malik smirked. There was little hostility in Bakura's tone, and his eyes were soft. Malik drained his water and wiped his mouth as he placed the empty glass in the sink. “Need to unwind, _habibi?”_

“Huh?” Bakura frowned at Malik over the rim of his own glass.

“Well, I thought maybe you might like some special attention, but I don’t think I could hold a candle to the massage you gave me the other day, so…” Malik stepped closer and wound his arms round Bakura’s waist, dipping his head to nuzzle at Bakura’s neck.

Bakura didn't need convincing, or any further explanation; his hands were already sneaking under Malik's shirt, fingers cool and soothing as they trailed over the muscles of Malik's stomach. He couldn't help sighing and arching into the touch. Meryt's magic had left Malik with a deep, wanton lust running through his body, and _damn,_ did Bakura's body heat and wandering fingers feel good. Why it had affected him so, he couldn't say. All he knew was that he'd never wanted anything more than he wanted Bakura at this very minute; the sun on his face and motorcycles be damned, he _needed_ this.

“Special attention, hmmm?” Bakura grinned. He plucked a kiss from Malik’s lips, letting him taste the tang of spirits lingering on his tongue. “You sure I deserve a luxury like that?”

Malik nipped Bakura’s bottom lip in response. “Take it or leave it, dorkface.”

“You’d better be proposing more than just a back rub.”

“I propose that you shut the fuck up and let me ravish you.”

The corner of Bakura’s mouth twitched in an amused leer. “I’ll take it.”

Their lips crashed back together in a clumsy, needful kiss, and Bakura's hands slipped out from under Malik's shirt in lieu of dropping to his beltline and undoing the top button of his jeans. Malik could barely process the eagerness in Bakura's frantic fumbling, already fighting with the zipper of Bakura's hoodie in his haste to rip the damn cloth open. He shoved Bakura back against the fridge before claiming his lips again, groaning at the soft brushes of Bakura's fingers over his clothed erection and pressing his hips further into the glorious touch.

Bakura's breath came in rapid gasps between kisses, and he pushed Malik away to tear off his hoodie and the faded T-shirt beneath it. Malik paused a moment, stopping to admire Bakura's wiry frame. He was thin, ribs showing a little more than Malik would have liked, but that didn't stop Malik from sinking to his knees and lavishing Bakura's warm, soft belly with decadent kisses. He'd ached to do this before, when Bakura had changed his clothes in front of him. His lips made a slow exploration of Bakura's skin, tongue slipping out to trace along hipbones left exposed by the sagging waistband of the former thief's jeans. 

"D-Dammit..." Bakura murmured as he leaned his head back. One hand slipped into Malik's hair, pushing it out of his face as he continued kissing and licking across Bakura's beltline. 

Malik looked up at Bakura, grinning to see his flushed cheeks and dark, half-lidded gaze, lost to the moment. Brushing one last kiss above Bakura's navel, he drew back, unable to wait anymore.

"Bedroom."

Malik hadn't meant to sound commanding, but to hell with it, it worked. Bakura all but dashed out of the room, leaving Malik to follow behind, only stopping a moment to pluck a small bottle from one of his bags and slipping it into the pocket of his unbuttoned jeans.

He found Bakura hurriedly shoving the usual amount of junk off the bed and onto the floor. Malik waited till Bakura straightened up before wrapping an arm round his waist and tugging him backwards, pressing their bodies together. He ran his free hand down Bakura’s stomach, dipping briefly below the waistband of his jeans, teasing the sensitive skin that lay below. Bakura squirmed against him, groaning, grinding his ass into Malik's crotch with a delectable pressure.

Malik began sucking Bakura’s neck as his fingers worked to undo Bakura’s jeans, letting them drop to the floor in a forgotten puddle of too-large denim; his socks and boxers followed soon after, and Bakura swivelled round to watch Malik step back and undress himself slowly. If his gaze could darken further, Malik felt he might have lost himself completely in the endless blackness, such was the lust and want in Bakura's eyes as he drank in every inch of copper-toned skin that revealed itself to him. 

They stood naked before each other, hands reaching out to trace wandering patterns over patches of previously unexplored skin. Bakura stepped closer and drew their bodies together, tilting his head up to brush his lips over Malik's collarbone. "You're beautiful," he whispered.

Malik moaned quietly at the compliment, the loving touch going straight to his cock. His head rolled back, giving Bakura more room to kiss and suck. "Never would have thought I'd hear that from someone like you, Bakura."

Bakura glanced up at him, chuckling. "I did say my head was all over the place."

"Mmhm, in fairness, you did warn me."

Bakura laced their fingers together and stepped back, a silent urge to come to bed. Well, there was no way anybody could refuse that smouldering stare. Malik allowed himself to be pulled down onto the bed with Bakura, resting between his thighs, their bodies flush against each other. "Malik..." Bakura whispered, "I need you. Right now."

_Oh,_ habibi, _I need you too._ Malik dipped his head and captured Bakura's lips firmly in his own. The gesture was sloppy and off-centre, but in the heat of the moment, neither really cared. Bakura’s hips rocked against Malik’s and his fingers dragged up the textured scars marring his back. When Malik pulled his mouth away from Bakura’s and closed instead around a rosy nipple, Bakura tossed his head back and uttered an impassioned moan of desire. Malik swirled his tongue around the bud and sucked on it, encouraging it to grow and become stiff. He moved to the other nipple and gave it the same treatment, listening to the noises Bakura made and gauging his excitement.

“M-Malik…” Bakura gasped. His cheeks flushed a deeper pink and his body trembled. “Malik, I…more…”

Malik couldn’t be happier to oblige. His hands and mouth began to meander steadily downwards, running over quivering skin and leaving soft, wet trails with his tongue. He reverently stroked Bakura’s stomach, running his fingers through the fluffy, silver-grey hair trailing downwards from his navel as he kissed Bakura’s inner thighs, taking extra care to tease the sensitive skin with well-placed nips and sucks. The former thief thrashed under him the whole time, uttering soft cries of pleasure and arching his back. He was coming undone completely, and Malik had barely even started with him.

Truthfully, Malik had very little experience in the bedroom, bar a few drunken fumbles back home in Egypt. Instinct drove him to act out his desires, and that was all, but Bakura responded with his thick, lustful cries, and it was like setting every nerve in his body alight. Bakura had asked for more, so Malik couldn't deny him that, and Bakura's cock twitched mere inches from his face, pale as the rest of him with a blushing, swollen head just begging to swirl his tongue over. Malik chuckled quietly in his chest as he allowed the tip of his tongue to slip out, tracing up the length of the shaft.

"O-Oh...holy fuck..." Bakura gripped the sheets either side of him, breath coming in ragged pants.

Malik's tongue continued its quest of the hot, throbbing skin before it. He got to work, thoroughly wetting Bakura’s stiffened shaft with a gleaming coat of saliva, occasionally glancing up through his lashes to observe Bakura's reaction. His blush had spread down to his quivering chest, lips parted and rosy with desire. He couldn't wait anymore; opening his mouth wide, he plunged down Bakura's cock as far as he could tolerate.

“Malik! Malik! Oh, fuck! Yes!”

Bakura’s ecstatic cries spurred Malik to bob his head faster, take Bakura in deeper, pour everything he had into the action of pleasuring his partner. The way Bakura raked his pale fingers through the smooth locks of Malik’s hair, and bucked his hips, and cursed under his breath, had Malik hitching his own cock against the mattress in an attempt to relieve some of the ache building up inside him.

He drew back after a few minutes, his jaw a little numb and uncomfortable. Bakura uttered a very uncharacteristic whimper at the lack of contact, which promptly melted into a low, wanton groan as he watched Malik retrieve the bottle of lube from his discarded jeans. His eyes never left Malik’s and his legs spread a little wider, giving Malik more room to work with.

Slowly, one well-slicked finger slipped inside Bakura, and then another. Malik went back to teasing Bakura’s erection with lips and tongue as he carefully pumped his fingers, stretching Bakura out. There was little resistance on Bakura’s part, and he soon began rocking his hips back and forth, driving the digits in deeper.

“Hmmm, you like this?” Malik purred.

Bakura flipped him off, but he uttered a pleasured grunt at the same time. Malik withdrew his fingers, added another coat of lube, and slipped them back in, adding a third digit to test Bakura’s boundaries. He responded with a breathy moan and a jerk of his hips, an unconscious plea for more. Despite his lust-riddled haze, Malik saw clearly through the red mist, seeing Bakura for what he was - the most beautiful, most desirable creature in existence…the sunlight beckoning from the darkness it had travelled through.

_I want you._

Malik slid his digits out and reached for the lube once more. He popped the cap open, but just before he went to anoint his own erection and finally bury himself in Bakura’s heat, he found himself hesitating a moment. Bakura watched him, calm and flushed, his eyes bright. “Are you sure?” Malik asked quietly. “You can back out now, if you want.”

Bakura raised an eyebrow at him, then snorted. “Shut up, Malik.”

“It’s just – I know I was a bit overbearing back in the kitchen – ”

“It’s fine, really – ”

“- And I don’t want to pressure you – ”

“Malik!”

Malik paused, realising he was rambling. A light blush coloured his own cheeks and he sat back sheepishly.

Bakura’s gaze drifted towards the ceiling a moment before settling back on Malik. “You really are a fucking dork, you know that?”

A lilting giggle burst from the Egyptian. “Yup, that’s me, but what does that make you?”

“The dork that’s about to get fucked.” Bakura didn’t look as though he could spread himself out any further, but he did, and Malik had to marvel at his flexibility. The sight made his mouth water. With a sultry batting of eyelashes, Bakura crooked a finger, beckoning for Malik to come closer, and how could he resist? Not that he wanted to, of course. Malik nearly fell over himself in his haste to press himself against Bakura’s indulgent warmth once more, and after a few kisses, it was Bakura who took the lube and slicked Malik’s length in preparation for what was to come.

Penetrating was awkward at best and completely laughable at worst. Neither had any idea how best to go about it, and Bakura flatly refused to resituate onto all fours (“Fuck you, I’m not a dog, Ishtar!”), so Malik’s first few attempts simply resulted in him getting the both of them covered with lube as he shifted back and forth, trying to find the right angle to slip inside Bakura. Eventually, a smirking Bakura tilted his hips up and hooked a leg round Malik’s waist; Malik caught on quickly and lifted the other leg to rest over his shoulder.

_Perfect._

_This_ was exactly what they’d been looking for. Malik pressed against the tight, slippery skin of Bakura’s entrance until finally, with a choked gasp, he began to move inside. Bakura screwed his face up and dug his fingers into Malik’s forearms, clearly not overly impressed with the initial sensation. Malik, on the other hand, was already in heaven, and barely an inch deep. Hot, slick pressure surrounded him, coaxing him in further, but Bakura looked uncomfortable, so Malik stilled his hips. "You okay?" Malik asked.

Bakura gave the tiniest twitch of his hips and winced. "This is easily the weirdest thing I've ever felt, and I spent three thousand years in a hunk of metal surrounded by darkness and Zorc."

"Do you want to stop?"

"Absolutely not."

"I don't want to hurt you."

"Malik..." Bakura pulled Malik down for a kiss, slipping his tongue briefly into the Egyptian's mouth. "I want this," Bakura whispered against Malik's lips. "You have no idea how badly I want this. Just go slow, alright? I can take it."

Malik wasn't too convinced, but Bakura gazed up at him in earnest, and his belly knotted itself together with a mixture of adoration and desire. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he nodded. "Okay. I'm going to try again."

It was easier this time. Bakura felt more relaxed now, and his body accepted Malik's girth more wilfully. His brow still furrowed in mild discomfort, but his hands slid round to Malik's backside, squeezing the supple flesh and encouraging him to keep going.

It didn't take long for Malik to sheath himself completely within Bakura. The sheer heat and tightness was incredible; nothing had ever come close to this. "Fuck," he whispered, hearing his voice shiver with euphoria. "Kura, you feel amazing."

Bakura chuckled. "You feel like a red-hot poker."

"Still hurt?"

"A little. It's fine." Bakura rocked his hips again, and this time the discomfort slid off his face rapidly, replaced by his eyes rolling back in his head as he gasped, cheeks flushing pink. "Oh, holy shit, that felt good."

"Do it again," Malik urged. Watching Bakura take his length from base to tip was utterly intoxicating.

The former thief managed to look amused the whole time he continued to rock his hips, but soft, breathy groans emanated from him and his eyes once more took on a dark, glassy appearance, like marbles glinting in the dim light of the room. Malik found himself gazing into them, refusing to tear his own eyes from Bakura’s face, lest he miss a single moment of the white-haired man’s pleasure. Slowly, he began matching Bakura’s movements with his own gentle thrusts, and they clutched at each other as their tentativeness built into confidence and determination. Malik’s thrusts became firm and Bakura had to stop arching into them to keep their rhythm going.

“Gods, Bakura - !”

“Malik, oh fuck, yes…”

“Is it good?”

“Yes! There! Like that!”

“Bakura!”

“Harder!”

Bakura’s wanton cries for more broke any remaining self-control Malik possessed. He slowed down for a moment, so he could slide his hand beneath the milk-white leg encircling his waist; he lifted it carefully over his free shoulder and leaned forward. With both legs supported, the position practically bent Bakura’s body in half, but once again, the pale, slender form showed off its remarkable flexibility, and Malik couldn’t help but wonder what other wild positions Bakura could contort himself into during sex. The thought aroused him, but not nearly as much as looking down into the flushed face of his former partner in crime, watching how his snowy eyelashes fluttered every time he closed his eyes, watching the way his lips parted as he shouted his pleasure to the ceiling.

Their skin smacked together, and their hair flew about their faces; their hands grabbed for each other and their moans and expletives grew louder with each passing minute. Malik pounded Bakura's pliant body now, hips slamming back and forth, and Bakura's voice cracked into shuddering screams, completely lost to overwhelming sensation and unable to do anything but cling to Malik and shout himself hoarse. Malik slipped a hand between their bodies and grasped Bakura's erection, teasing the head with his thumb before beginning to stroke him firmly. The position they were in made it awkward, but Malik didn't care. He wanted to see pure ecstasy in the eyes of his partner the moment he exploded in orgasm.

“Close,” Bakura gasped. “S-So close…Malik, I…”

Malik squeezed Bakura’s shaft as he stroked. “Let go, Kura.”

Bakura’s body began to tremble, his hands leaving Malik’s skin to dig into the pillow beneath his head. His moans became high-pitched gasps and whimpers, and his muscles visibly tightened. Malik felt the clenching of Bakura’s passage around his cock and slowed down his pace just a touch to pump Bakura faster with his fist. Bakura's pleasure reached its peak, and he tossed his head back in release as warm semen splattered his chest and stomach. The sight was so erotic that Malik couldn't help but tumble over the edge with him, and he came with Bakura's name heavy and reverent on his lips mere moments later.

Afterwards, they lay together, limbs a tangle and hair a mess. For several long minutes, the only sound they made was their heavy breathing. Malik inwardly praised the divine blessing of the moon shining through the window, caressing his naked skin, and the warm comfort of Bakura’s body against his. From underneath Malik, Bakura simply held him, a hand wandering absently over the rugged scars etched into Malik's back.

"I want to be whole again," Bakura whispered.

Malik smiled. "And you will be, _habibi."_

"I've spent too long despairing over my life. I'm tired of it."

"I know. We're going to help you, I promise."

Malik lifted his head now, gazing into the sleepy, deep brown gaze that met him. Bright, almost holy light surrounded Bakura, too pure to be moonlight alone. That's when Malik saw the flicker of movement above them, and he gasped to see the creature hovering over the bed. Heavily built and white as new-fallen snow, it had a stern face, a human torso and a serpent for a tail. Imposing and mighty as it looked, the radiance it gave off was so powerful, Malik knew it wasn't there to hurt them.

"Bakura, is this...?" Malik drew back onto his knees and reached out towards the creature. He expected his fingers to slip straight through it, as though it were an apparition, but they met warm, solid flesh, and the creature simply watched him silently, letting him explore. "Is this what your mother gave to you?"

Bakura nodded. He gave the creature a little wave as he grinned up at it. "This is my _ka,_ my second shadow I thought long lost."

The serpentine head at the end of the creature's tail butted its brow into Bakura's hand, and he stroked the shimmering scales, a blissful, unadulterated love shining in his eyes. "Diabound, meet Malik. Malik, Diabound."


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_Here we have a Yugi chapter! The poor boy just can't catch a break. You'll find some Blindship fluff and mentions of past Peachshipping within._ **

* * *

Yugi yawned loudly. Red Bull could only carry him so far into his revision, and now he sorely wished for his bed, but an exam at university loomed, so he was staying up well into the night in the hopes of getting a good grade. With the added pressure of scrolling through ancient Egyptian spell books, he felt as though he'd never get any rest, but he'd promised to help Bakura, so with Ryou's help, they had begun researching everything they could.

A soft knock on his bedroom door made him look up from the heavy textbook on his lap. "Oh, come in," he said.

The handle turned, and Atem poked his head round, dreads ruffled from sleep and his eyes drowsy. _"Hi, mou hitori no boku,”_ Yugi said. “Everything alright?" 

 _"Aibou."_ Atem's tone was affectionate, but firm.

"I know, I know. I should be sleeping, but I have so much to do."

"I saw your light on and thought I should check on you. May I come in?"

Yugi giggled. "You literally shared my body, Atem. You don't need to ask to come into my room."

Atem slipped inside with a chuckle and closed the door. "It's only polite." Crossing the room, he hopped up onto the corner of the desk and crossed his arms and legs leisurely. "Are you making any progress?" he asked. "You've been poring over that book for days."

Yugi sighed, shaking his head and trying not to stare at Atem; even in the faded sweatpants and far-too-large vest he wore to bed, he still looked drop dead gorgeous. Yugi still hadn’t outgrown his love of brightly patterned pyjamas, and right now, he felt rather self-conscious and childish next to the mighty pillar demanding worship beside him.

"I've found some spells, but I don't know which we need. Are we heading to the past, or inside Bakura's mind, or stepping into the shadows themselves? _Mou hitori no boku..._ I don't think I've felt this confused since you left us."

Atem returned Yugi's sigh. He reached out and stroked Yugi's shoulder gently, rubbing along the jutting bone with his thumb. Yugi closed his eyes and leaned into the touch gratefully. "I know I could not have been selfless enough to put aside my own differences to help Bakura," Atem said. "The purity of your soul shines through, _aibou._ Whether you find what you seek, or not, I'm proud of you."

"You're too hard on yourself."

"My apologies."

"Stop it," Yugi laughed. "You don't ever have to apologise to me."

Atem nodded, uncertain. "Still, I...I have put you through a lot. I was arrogant and selfish. I hurt people for the sake of a game. And yet, you have supported me through it all. You are the light in my darkness, Yugi, and words can't express strongly enough how much I love you."

The words were sweet, and they were true, but they didn't mean the same to Yugi as they did to Atem. Despite the bittersweet ache in his heart, he forced himself to smile brightly at his darker half. “I love you too, _mou hitori no boku.”_

Atem squeezed Yugi’s hand, returning the smile. “Take a break, _aibou._ It’s too late for you to concentrate right now, surely.”

“Hmm. I guess you’re right.” Yugi was indeed exhausted, and he fought back a yawn as he tumbled from his chair, stretching his cramped muscles. “I’ll go brush my teeth and then tidy all this up.”

“Don’t worry about that, I’ll put your books away.”

“Thank you.”

Yugi gazed blearily at his reflection in the bathroom mirror as he half-heartedly scrubbed at his teeth. His hair looked like it could do with a wash, and oh god, were those _spots?_ Who got spots at his age? Yugi groaned and poked at one of them, as if it might realise the error of its ways and make its way off his face. _All this work is going to be the death of me._

_“Aibou…”_

Toothbrush hanging from his mouth, Yugi swung round. Atem leaned in the doorway, arms folded and a casual smile on his face. Yugi raised a questioning eyebrow while wiping toothpaste-streaked saliva from his chin. “Come to my room when you’re done,” Atem murmured. Confused, all Yugi could do was blink, but Atem turned on his heel and walked away, the soft padding of his bare feet along the hallway the only reminder that he had been there.

Yugi hurriedly finished brushing, tossed his toothbrush back into its holder, and splashed some water on his face to clean it before following Atem. He moved quietly, knowing his mother and grandfather were sound asleep just a few metres away.

He found Atem sat cross-legged at the head of his bed, resting his head on his hand with an expression that looked bored, but Yugi knew him better than that; he was thinking, and thinking hard. Yugi clambered onto the bed with him and got comfortable. “What’s got your brain whirring?” he asked.

Atem blinked a few times, as if not immediately registering Yugi's presence. "I feel as though something has changed between us since the séance, _aibou."_

"How so?"

"You seem flustered around me at times. I can't help but wonder if you've been thinking about what Malik said about us that day."

Right on cue, Yugi's face flushed bright red. Malik's words had indeed hung heavy on him, and he inwardly cursed the Egyptian for being so damn perceptive.

"O-Oh! Well, I mean - it's not like - that is to say – oh, dear..."

"Yugi," Atem laughed, "you really are cute when you're embarrassed."

"I'm not embarrassed! _Mou hitori no boku!"_ Yugi his face in his hands, heat radiating from his cheeks.

Warm fingers brushed over his wrists, carefully prising his hands away, and when Yugi opened his eyes at last, he jumped to see Atem's own twinkling violet eyes inches from his own. They were so close together that Yugi could smell the remnants of Atem's shower gel on his skin - soft vanilla and floral honey; decadent and indulgent, a perfect fit for the former Pharaoh. Yugi had to fight not to close his eyes again and take deep breaths of the heavenly scents.

"Atem?" Yugi whispered.

"Hm?" Atem brushed away a few stray hairs from Yugi's face.

"I...I-I want…no, I…"

"Shhh. It's okay." Hands the colour of burnt caramel cupped Yugi's cheeks. "Do you trust me?"

Yugi smiled. "Always."

His heart was rioting in his chest, and he'd never been one to get his hopes up about anything, but the moment Atem stroked his hair, Yugi had hoped, _longed_ to feel his partner's lips on his own.

Atem granted him that, just a soft brush, a fleeting touch, then he pulled away, surveying Yugi carefully. Their eyes met, and their lips curved up into pleased smiles at the same time. Before Atem could ask if it was okay, Yugi tackled Atem to the mattress and sealed their mouths together once more.

They stayed gentle, hands never straying below their beltlines, and content moans of desire emanated from them as their tongues twined and their lips grew wet. Nestled so comfortably between Atem’s thighs, Yugi couldn’t have pulled away even if the world was about to end. Indeed, Atem seemed to feel the same way; he slung a leg over Yugi's, subtly pinning him in place, and wrapped an arm round Yugi’s waist to stroke the soft skin of his lower back.

Atem turned his head to the side, breaking the kiss after what felt like minutes, though in reality it was probably seconds. A heated flush had spread from Atem's cheeks and down his neck and chest, his lips parted and glistening with saliva as he panted, catching his breath. No worry or regret appeared to surface, so Yugi folded his arms on Atem's chest and rested his head on them, watching the beautiful young man beneath him.

After a moment, Atem smiled lazily, lifting a hand to stroke Yugi's hair again. "I’ve wanted to do that for so long.”

Yugi giggled. "Yeah, me too."

"We're an awkward pair, aren't we, _aibou?"_

"You can say that again."

"Mm." Atem stifled a yawn behind his free hand. "Will you stay with me tonight? No funny business. I just want to hold you close."

Yugi's face positively lit up. Without a word, he scrambled from off Atem, and yanked back the sheets so he could slip beneath them. Atem grinned at Yugi's enthusiasm as he flicked off the bedside lamp, and held an arm out, inviting Yugi to nestle into him. He did so with a content sigh and closed his eyes. “It’s taken us two years to admit how we feel,” he murmured. “Somehow I feel it should have been easier.”

Atem made a low noise of agreement. “Well, you were spoken for when I returned, _aibou._ I wasn’t going to risk your relationship with Anzu by admitting my feelings for you. Now, though…hmmm…” Atem rolled onto his side and drew the thumb of his free hand over Yugi’s delicate cheekbone. “I guess seeing Malik and Bakura so happy with each other made me a little braver. If they can do it, I’m sure we can.”

 _"Mou hitori no boku…”_ Yugi nuzzled Atem’s firm chest fondly. “I love you so much.”

“And I you, _aibou.”_

Warm and happy, they drifted off to sleep in each other’s arms without anything more to say. Yugi couldn’t remember the last time he had gone to bed feeling so content, and by the time morning rolled by, he could barely bring himself to leave Atem’s side. The former Pharaoh had thrown off his vest at some point during the night, so Yugi awoke to the delicious sight of firm, amber-toned skin barely an inch from his face, and the urge to run his tongue over it was almost unbearable. He jumped out of the bed before he lost control of himself, and dashed into the bathroom to shower and get ready for the day. Atem dozed on, undisturbed.

Yugi had a mid-morning lecture, which he managed to arrive early for, for once. He slipped into a seat beside Ryou, who flashed him his usual bashful smile. "I brought lunch for us both," Yugi said by way of greeting, indicating the bentos in the top of his bag. "Mum made them for us."

"Oh, she's an angel," Ryou sighed happily. "Please thank her for me when you get home.”

Yugi dropped his voice a little. "Have you made any progress on Bakura?"

Ryou tilted his hand back and forth in a _"comme-çi, comme-ça"_ gesture. "I don't think delving into his head is going to work, or he would have felt something by now; Bakura's always been very in touch with his spiritual side. He has Diabound back, though, which should help enormously."

"Diabound?" Yugi cast his mind back to the Millennium World, remembering the hulking, naga-like being that had protected the Thief King. "Wow...so he has his _ka_ again?"

"Yeah, Malik told me. I've not seen Kura since the séance."

"You think he's doing okay?"

Ryou smirked. "More than okay. Malik says they slept together that night."

Yugi nearly hit the ceiling, a gleeful smile spreading across his face. "Oh, wow! How much did Malik tell you?”

"Why? Do you need some tips?"

"R-Ryou! You're the worst! No lunch for you!"

Ryou giggled and patted Yugi's shoulder. "You know I'm just playing with you."

The lecture passed with its usual uneventfulness, and afterwards, Yugi and Ryou retreated to their favourite spot at the top of the building to eat their lunch. Ryou dug out one of his old spellbooks as they ate, and thumbed through it with a frown creasing his brow. "This has to be the most difficult dive into the unknown that I've ever had to be privy to. And I spent years with Bakura running my body around, so that really is saying something."

"You must have blacked out a lot, huh?" Yugi asked.

"As a child, yeah, though I didn’t become aware of him until I was around fifteen or so. After the whole Monster World stuff, he couldn't control me the way he used to, so we came to an agreement of sorts." Ryou paused to pop a few edamame in his mouth, a gentle, faraway look on his face. "We both shared a common interest in the Millennium Items, so I told him he could use me as he wanted, provided he didn't hurt any of my friends. He even did my schoolwork from time to time. He really wasn't that bad a spirit."

"Lucky you,” Yugi grinned. “Whenever I tried to get Atem to do my schoolwork, he'd just hide in his soul room and yell at me.”

"Did you black out at all?"

"Yeah, until Death-T. I kind of came to terms with having Atem inside me at that point, so I stopped being scared and we worked together as one."

Ryou nodded, smiling. "And that relationship has carried on even into your adult years."

"Well...speaking of Atem..." Yugi felt his cheeks flushing, and cursed himself inwardly for still getting embarrassed about everything at the drop of a hat. He picked up an onigiri from his bento, and bit into it, savouring the simplicity and elegance of his mother's cooking. "Atem kissed me last night," Yugi said, but his mouth was full of rice, so he had to repeat himself, and when he did, it was Ryou who practically jumped a foot in the air this time, white hair flying around his face.

"It's about bloody time, Yugi! Tell me everything. How did it go?"

"It was...nice." It proved difficult to find words powerful enough to describe the passionate moment they had shared. "He had hold of my cheeks -" he cupped his cheek to demonstrate, with the hand not holding the onigiri, " - and then he kissed me, really soft and sweet...and then I pretty much pounced on him and ate his face."

Ryou burst out laughing. "You don't do things by halves, Yugi!"

"Well, I mean...he seemed to enjoy it."

"Did you…you know?"

Yugi shook his head frantically. "We slept together, but, like, literally slept. We didn't have sex. God, could you imagine my mother and grandpa finding out?” Yugi fanned himself, feigning being flustered. "I've not been with a man before, Ryou. It wouldn’t surprise me if Atem had several concubines back when he was Pharaoh, but I’m just…I mean, where do you even start?”

Ryou nodded, an empathetic expression on his face. "I understand. I was the same with Kek. Neither of us knew what to do, so the first few times were complete disasters, but...you just get a feel for it eventually." He rested his head on his hand and gazed at Yugi with his big, dark eyes. "I guess it's different when you experienced a woman first."

Yugi nodded, thankful that he and Ryou could be so open with one another. Yugi and Anzu had dated briefly a few years ago, but it had been mostly long-distance, due to her studying abroad in America. Whenever she returned, they could never keep their hands off each other, so Yugi wasn't completely useless in the bedroom, thankfully. Speaking with anyone else about such matters, even Jonouchi, would have Yugi blushing scarlet and stumbling over his words, but Ryou always kept such a blank face when they spoke of intimate moments, like it was just any old conversation to him. It probably looked creepy to anyone else, but to Yugi it held immense comfort.

"Don't worry, Yugi," Ryou said softly. "There's no need to rush into things. I'm sure Atem has all the time in the world for you. He adores you."

"You think so?"

"I know so, silly!"

Before Yugi could respond, Ryou's phone rang, and he plucked it out of his pocket. "Ah, please excuse me, Yugi. It's Kek." He flipped the phone open and held it to his ear, continuing to eat with his free hand. "Hi, love. Is everything oka - "

Yugi didn't need to ask if something was wrong. Ryou's chopsticks falling from his hand confirmed it.

"Oh, goodness me. Okay, um...I'll be home as quick as I can. You know the drill; some salt and sage. Thank you, love. See you soon."

Ryou put the phone away and groaned. "Yugi, we have a problem."

"What's happened?"

"There's a rift in my living room.”


	19. Chapter 19

Kek growled at the shadowy manifestation, a threatened creature warning the enemy encroaching on his territory. He held Ryou’s salt jar tightly in his hands as he crouched in front of the rift, watching it with unblinking eyes for any horrors that might decide the house was the ideal place to make their presence known. Fuck, he’d be damned if he let some demon wander in before Ryou could so much as say hello to it.

The dark presence…so familiar to Kek; unwelcome, unwanted, but familiar. After being banished from Malik’s mind, he’d found himself caught in the swirling blackness, unable to find solace or peace, unable to move on. The darkness welcomed him with open arms, but he could only tolerate the pressing feeling of despair for so long; thus, when the time finally came that he was cast out, and yanked headfirst into Ryou’s living room, he’d been half-mad with the unstable emotions that had been tearing him apart over the years.

He knew now, though, that despite being borne of Malik’s pain, anger, suffering, hatred…even someone like him couldn’t drown in shadows forever. Ryou had saved him from that fate, given him life, love, a place to call his own.

But now the shadows were back, and Kek was having none of it this time. With every strong throb of shadowy magic that rippled across his skin, he bared his teeth and snarled, clutching the salt jar so hard that his knuckles paled. This was his _home._ No piece of shit demonic shadowy bastard was getting in without a fight.

_Come on, you fuckers. Just try me. I will kick your asses, just you wait and see._

The front door banged open and Ryou hurried in, casting about wildly for the rift. When he saw it, his eyes narrowed. “Dammit,” he muttered as he pulled off his jacket. “Surely I should have noticed something like this developing.”

“I didn’t notice it either, so I guess it’s on the both of us,” Kek shrugged. He wasn’t nearly as proficient in magic as Ryou was, but he’d been learning.

Ryou stood in front of the swirling darkness and folded his arms, frowning. “I mean, surely it could have picked a better place to turn up than in front of my TV. Now where will we play video games?”

“Priorities, eh, snowflake?"

A soft, amused smile flickered onto Ryou’s face. “Either we didn’t end the séance properly…” he mused, “or it’s been hanging around since you three came back. It might be a combination of the two…it’s difficult to tell.” Ryou wiggled his fingers, watching the shadows snap and twist in response to the movements. “Either way, we need to do something about it. Will you please call Malik and ask him to come over? Yugi is already on his way.”

Great. So that meant Atem would be coming too, since he insisted on following Yugi like a puppy. Scowling, Kek dug his mobile out of his pocket without verbal complaint, and dialled Malik’s number.

 _“Ahlan ya akhun!”_ Malik answered the phone in his lilting accent.

 _“Ahlan,”_ Kek replied, before switching to his own more familiar Japanese. “Listen, can you get over here? Like, quickly? We’ve got a bit of a problem.”

“Oh?”

“Some fucked-up shadow portal just popped up in our living room.”

Malik exhaled heavily. “Well, shit. Yeah, just give me a minute to bundle up his Drunken Highness and we’ll be on our way.”

“Fuck you, Ishtar!” Kek heard Bakura yell from somewhere in Malik’s distance.

"Give me fifteen minutes, I'll drive over," Malik said, and the phone clicked off a moment later.

Malik's fifteen minutes became more like three quarters of an hour, by which time Yugi and Atem had arrived. The reason for Malik's lateness quickly became apparent; Bakura was muttering under his breath and shooting filthy looks at Malik from the moment they stepped out of the car.

"What crawled up his ass and died?" Kek grinned as they crossed the threshold into the house.

Malik rolled his eyes. "He's just bitching because I've dragged him away from his laptop."

"Fuck you!" Bakura snapped. "Do you have any idea how much work I've lost thanks to you bunch of morons?"

"Oh, and he drank a quarter of a bottle of vodka between your phone call and getting in the car."

Kek's own eyes rolled, and he grabbed Bakura by the back of his shirt and lifted him effortlessly. Bakura spluttered and lashed out, but Kek was much stronger, and he deposited Bakura in front of the rift with a _thump._ "You might be losing work, but Ryou will be the one throwing a fit if he can't play video games anymore."

Bakura narrowed his eyes and poked at the rift, drawing his hand back almost straight away. "The hell is this?" he whispered.

"I wish I knew." Ryou made his presence known like a cat, quiet and subtle as he slipped in from the kitchen. Yugi and Atem followed him through, and sat down together on the sofa while Ryou mirrored Bakura, waving a hand in front of the swirling darkness. He mumbled a few chants under his breath, but nothing discernible happened.

After a few minutes, Ryou drew back, shaking his head. "The pull of its will is strong," he said, "but I can't seem to get a feel for what might be inside. It would be too dangerous for me to go straight in without it having been checked first..."

"Bakura," Atem spoke up, "am I right in thinking you regained your _ka_ from your mother? Do you think you could send Diabound into the portal?"

Bakura glared at Atem with slightly unfocused eyes. "And why the fuck would I do that?"

"Because," Atem replied smoothly, "I believe the innate powers of your _ka_ would protect him from any evil within while he explores undisturbed. I've witnessed his abilities first hand, remember? You're an ass, but your _ka_ is holy."

The mix of compliment and insult appeared to please Bakura, and he grinned widely. "Well, Pharaoh, flatter me a little more and I might just go weak at the knees."

"Dream on."

"I will, I'm sure," Bakura purred. Placated, he gestured for Ryou to step aside, and sank to his knees, winking at Atem, who rolled his eyes. Then his eyes closed and he extended a hand to the rift, lips moving in a soundless murmur.

Kek swallowed a gasp when he felt the air around them ripple, saw the brilliant white shape coalesce around Bakura's body before slipping into the darkness before them. So that was Diabound...all this Ancient Egyptian magic had Kek confused more often than not, and yet, he was fascinated nonetheless.

Bakura settled into a meditative stance, eyes opening partway. His pale eyelashes fluttered every now and then, eyes moving half-blindly behind their lids. Malik waved a hand in front of his face and pulled a lopsided smirk. "He's gone," he explained to the crowd of perplexed faces. "He's seeing through Diabound's eyes now."

"Can he hear us?" Yugi asked. Bakura nodded, answering the question without words, and Yugi gave a nervous giggle. "Wow, this really is some awesome stuff, if a little creepy."

Ryou scoffed. "Yugi, we literally spent years of our lives being inhabited by ancient spirits and fighting demons and their draconic penises, but you think _this_ is creepy?"

"Yeah, but you're weird, Ryou. You don't find anything creepy!"

Kek growled and drew Ryou to his chest, displeased by the light-hearted insult, but Ryou laughed and pressed a kiss to Kek's cheek. "He's right, to be fair, love.”

Bakura broke the banter with a sharp cry and jerked backwards as he broke out of his semi-entranced state. Atem dove in to catch him before he smacked his head on the floor, and it looked like only the shock of whatever Bakura had witnessed in the shadows stopped him from murdering Atem on the spot, though he still glared at the former Pharaoh as he roughly shoved him away without so much as a “go fuck yourself.”

"What did you see?" Ryou asked quietly.

Bakura ran a hand through his hair and gestured with his free hand to the rift; Diabound returned to him a moment later. His voice was a low tremble when he managed to speak.

"What's left of me is in there. I can feel it. But..."

"But what?" Kek snapped. "Get your ass in there already and then you can stop being so fucking miserable all the time."

"It isn't going to be that easy!" Bakura shouted. "It's dangerous in there, freakshow. The darkness saps the strength of the mortals who fall victim to their surroundings. If I go in there, Diabound won't be enough to protect me, and without the entirety of my soul, my heka isn't powerful enough for me to cast even the most basic of spells. In short, I go in there, I'm dead within the day, if I'm lucky."

"Good," Kek grinned. "We'd finally have some peace and quiet."

Ryou smacked Kek's arm lightly. "Stop that. He's right, it's dangerous to go alone." The faintest of smirks played around Ryou's lips, and Kek knew he was itching to say, "take this" and pull a sword out from somewhere, but he refrained, instead retrieving an old, leather-bound book from underneath the sofa. “If we’re going in there, we’re going to need some wards to protect us.”

“Wait, we?!” Kek thundered.

“Yep.”

“Fuck that, I’m not going back into the darkness! Hell fucking no, Ryou.” Kek shook his head violently. “Sorry, snowflake. I love you, but I’m not doing it.”

Malik folded his arms, sniggering. “Scared of the dark, _akhun?”_

“Fuck you, you were no different!”

“Kek, I understand you’re frightened,” Ryou said softly. His words floated like a feather on the breeze, a sweet comfort to Kek that nothing could compare to. “I know it’s asking a lot of you, but…the six of us were there when this all began, and I think it will have to be the six of us that end it. We’ll do our best to protect each other, okay? You have my word.”

Kek looked from Ryou to Malik, to Bakura still sat on the floor, to Yugi and Atem holding hands and exchanging worried glances. He enjoyed the company of maybe two of them, and the rest could go to hell as far as he was concerned.

And yet…they really were all in this together, no matter the animosity between them. Whatever fucked up dark magic that had drawn the six of them together seemed determined to keep them that way until the very end. Kek hated it, but if that was the way it was, then so be it. He’d still put his trust in Ryou and follow him to the ends of the earth if he had to.

So Kek nodded, and let Ryou press a soft kiss to his lips. He thought he saw a flicker of gratitude in Bakura’s eyes, but any trace of it vanished as quickly as it came. “This is such a pain in the ass,” Bakura groaned, throwing himself backwards onto the carpet.

“Kura, you were crying and begging us for help not long ago,” Malik pointed out, “so quit complaining already and make yourself useful. Go make some tea – we’re going to be here a while.”

 


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_I...really don't know what the fuck I was on when I wrote this chapter. It's like 3,000 words of OOC Thiefship smut with dildos and Top!Kura. You can skip this chapter if you want, it doesn't really add much to the story. xD_ **

* * *

Bakura really had to hand it to Ryou – he was a real whizz where magic was concerned. _Oh, and Yugi too, I guess, but who cares about him?_

It was true, though. Bakura suspected their skills now even rivalled those of Mahad and Mana, as he watched the young men cast protective wards around the rift, to keep them all safe while they prepared for the journey inside. As Malik had ordered, Bakura had grudgingly made everybody drinks, though he’d been petty and put salt instead of sugar into Atem’s coffee. His Royal Arrogance, however, had knocked it back with a straight face, as if he’d not even noticed. If Bakura had been any more drunk, he’d have kicked off like a sulking child for having his plan backfire on him, but he was starting to sober up now, so he just curled up in Kek’s armchair and rested his head on his bent knees, scowling.

It had been several hours now. It didn't look like the spellcasting would finish anytime soon.

“You look stressed, _habibi.”_ Malik perched on the arm of the chair to give Bakura’s wild mess of hair an affectionate ruffle; Bakura only half-heartedly slapped his hand away. "Maybe you should go upstairs and take a nap.”

“And miss out on all this?” Bakura growled. “Fuck that.”

"Actually," Yugi said, "this is going to take a lot longer than we initially thought. You could probably go home and get some rest before we head into this thing. We’ll call you when it's time."

That sounded like a better idea than drumming up new ways to poison Atem's drinks. Well...no, it didn't, but it might save Bakura from standing trial for murder, so he gave a neutral grunt and heaved himself to his feet, grabbing hold of Malik's shoulder for balance.

"Yeah, sure - so long as you won't need Diabound again."

"No, we should be fine," Ryou replied with his usual sweet smile. "Thank you for your help, Bakura."

"Hmph." Bakura flicked his fingers in farewell, then tugged Malik's sleeve, urging him to follow. Atem gave them a cheery wave as they went, and Bakura had to resist the temptation to throw Ryou's spellbook at his over-inflated head.

In the car, Bakura huddled into the front passenger seat and drew his knees back to his chest, ignoring the uncomfortable tightness of the seatbelt digging into his neck as a result. His heart ached with the speed of its hammering, but it wasn't the same as one of his emotional crashes...just...well...

"Bakura? Are you okay?"

They'd stopped at a set of lights, and Malik was giving Bakura a concerned look. He kept one hand on the wheel, but the other he reached out to stroke Bakura's cheek. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

Bakura slapped Malik's hand away once more. "I'm fine, Ishtar."

Malik's gaze became soft and endearing, and he laughed, shaking his head, as he lowered his hand to the gearstick and started moving the car again. Bakura scoffed at the gesture, like his pain in the ass sort-of-lover knew something he didn't. All he knew for certain, himself, was that he was craving closeness again, and felt like a fool for it.

Nevertheless, he couldn’t hold back once they made it back to the apartment. Butterflies danced in Bakura's stomach and threatened to make him lose his lunch, but he shoved the discomfort aside, and buried himself in Malik’s warm arms the moment they crossed the threshold.

“Hey, what’s all this about?” Malik asked. He nuzzled the top of Bakura’s head, sending a pleasant tingle down Bakura’s spine that he would certainly never admit to.

“I don’t know,” Bakura replied gruffly. “Just…shut up and deal with it, alright?”

Malik tucked a hand under Bakura’s chin and lifted his face up to kiss his lips. Delightful fire blazed in the pit of Bakura’s stomach at the tender gesture. “Are you scared?” Malik whispered.

“Am I fuck.”

“Kura.”

“Malik.”

Malik sighed. “You’re hopeless, you know that?”

Bakura nodded as he began to unbutton Malik’s shirt. “For once, we both just…need to stop arguing, okay?”

Malik returned the nod, and kissed him again, and their clothes began falling away from their bodies, till they stood naked before each other. Bakura dragged his lips across Malik's collarbone, tasting the soft skin of his lover, listening to his breathing hitch with every sensuous movement they made. He dipped his head a little and kissed around nipples the colour of deep mahogany, swirling his tongue around them and encouraging them to stiffen. Malik groaned and ran his hands through Bakura's hair, arching up into his mouth eagerly.

This was what Bakura needed. A warm, familiar body pressed up close to his own. A gentle voice murmuring in pleasure. The satisfaction of knowing that nobody else could ever do to Malik what he could do. No, this was their moment and their moment alone. Bakura hadn’t, couldn’t have, realised how badly he'd needed anyone in his life until Malik barged unceremoniously into it.

Bakura straightened suddenly, grabbed Malik's wrist, and pulled him to the sofa before shoving him down onto it. Malik looked too far gone with lust to argue, but when Bakura sank to his knees before him, he let out a low, wanton moan. Bakura smirked up at him. Malik's erection stood thick and firm in front of his face, but he ignored it for now, instead opting to trail kisses and gentle bites up the sensitive inside of Malik's thighs.

"Oh, gods..." Malik whispered. "Bakura..."

Bakura’s pink, teasing tongue slipped out, dipping into the crease at the junction of Malik’s thigh and groin. The resulting shudder that wracked Malik’s body was enough to give Bakura lewd dreams for weeks. He felt Malik rock his hips, clearly wanting the damp warmth somewhere else, but Bakura had other plans for his lover’s pleasure. He dropped lower, using his hands to lift Malik’s thighs up and outwards as he slipped his tongue out again to drag the flat of it slowly over Malik’s balls.

Malik tossed his head back and bit his lip. “H-Holy fuck – ”

Bakura licked him again, and this time Malik moaned outright, too enraptured to form words. Bakura grinned against Malik’s blushing skin as he slipped lower still, grabbing hold of Malik’s hips to pull them clear off the edge of the sofa. Bakura shifted back and drew closer once more, brushing the very faintest of licks over Malik’s entrance.

"O-Oh…oh, Bakura…mmm…yes…” Malik sucked in a sharp breath, a shudder making his thighs quiver around Bakura's head. “Don’t stop…”

The gentle brushes of Bakura’s tongue became deep, languid strokes and teasing flicks, inching a little deeper inside with every passing minute that Malik relaxed into the touch. His soft, breathy moans urged Bakura onwards, a clear indication of his lover's enjoyment.

When Bakura was able to dip his tongue in and out easily, he drew back, wiping spit from his chin, and retrieved a bottle of lube from under the sofa cushions. Malik watched with blazing eyes as Bakura uncapped it, but when he made to coat his fingers, Malik shook his head. "No?" Bakura asked, frowning.

Malik shook his head again and stood up. "I've something different in mind," he said, “and the couch is hurting my back. Let’s go to the bedroom; I’ve something for you to play with.”

_Oh? That’s new._

Interest piqued, Bakura allowed Malik to take his hand and begin pulling him towards what was quite clearly now _their_ bedroom. Malik hadn't returned to Ryou's spare bedroom since that night, and Bakura had little to complain about apart from the occasional kick of chilly toes. He wouldn't stay forever, surely - and why would he? - but for the time being, Bakura felt content to enjoy his time in safe grounding, soft kisses, and reassuring validation.

Malik rummaged in the bottom of the wardrobe while Bakura shoved the usual computer-based detritus off the bed. Not for the first time, he wondered if he needed to invest in a few more drawers.

A soft _thump_ alighted at the foot of the bed, and when Bakura glanced over, he saw something thick and rather phallic-looking, its shape bumpy and tapered - a little intimidating, despite its luminous pink hue. He let out a short, shaky laugh. “Um, is that what I think it is?”

“Depends what you think it is.” Malik hopped onto the bed and stretched out, his lithe form utterly delectable in its naked, gold-accented beauty.

“When the fuck did you get a dildo?”

Malik shrugged. “I’ve had it a while. I don’t remember when I bought it.”

“Have you…used it before?”

A gentle chuckle vibrated in Malik’s chest. He crooked a finger, and Bakura slid onto the bed with him, eyes wide and curious. He straddled Malik’s lap and Malik wound his fingers through Bakura’s hair to ease him down for a kiss.

“I have,” Malik purred against Bakura’s trembling lips, “but I imagine it’s much more fun when you’re not on your own. Don’t you agree?”

Bakura couldn’t help but grin at the sultry tone in Malik’s voice. “It’s clean, right?”

“No, it’s just been sat festering in a box since the last time I shoved it up my ass,” Malik replied drily. “Of course it’s clean, you fucking idiot.”

Bakura reached out for the toy, testing its weight and feel in his hand. It was light enough, and smoothly textured despite its uneven shape. The mental image of Malik, legs spread wide as he fucked himself with the ridiculously brightly coloured object, had Bakura’s cheeks burning. “So…how are we going about using this thing?"

“Hmmm…” Malik stuck the tip of his thumb in his mouth as he thought, his nose scrunching in a way that made Bakura want to kiss it. "How about you turn around, _habibi?"_

"Eh?" Bakura frowned, but Malik's words and his thoughts caught up to him a moment later, and he understood, his cheeks flushing further. He pulled away from Malik and flipped round, settling back down on Malik's warm body. It wasn’t a view he was used to seeing – just Malik’s legs and feet – and Bakura felt rather exposed, but Malik’s erection twitched just below Bakura’s mouth, and that was enticing enough for him to remain in position.

Bakura swallowed, still a little nervous. "You sure?" he asked.

Malik's answer was to flick the tip of his tongue over Bakura’s entrance, and he hissed, rolling his hips down on instinct. The warm, damp sensation became a heaven Bakura had never known, and his thighs tensed and shuddered with each swirl of Malik’s tongue.

It became rather difficult to think, but Bakura kept his wits about him just enough in order to coat the dildo-plug-thingy with plenty of lube. He worked his mouth up and down Malik's cock during the process, not wanting to be the only one receiving pleasure, and Malik responded with low, delighted hums against his sensitive skin.

After some time playing with each other, Malik raised his legs, planting his feet flat against the mattress. Bakura nodded to himself and carefully manoeuvred the slick toy up against Malik's opening.

"Start off slow, okay?" Malik said.

"Obviously."

With a little press, the tip began to slip inside. Malik shifted underneath Bakura, his breathing picking up in pace slightly. The tip was quite modest in girth, just a few fingers wide or so; Bakura figured there wasn't much to sing and dance about for now.

A little more...a little more...Malik was panting now and rocking his hips into the toy...

Halfway down, Malik's thighs began to quiver. "Oh, gods..."

Bakura paused, uncertainty stalling his movements. Malik didn't sound unsure, but something in his tone told Bakura he needed a little time to adjust. That was fine; Bakura was still enjoying himself immensely, indulging in the closeness he'd craved so badly.

He kept the hand holding the toy still as he leaned down to take Malik's cock into his mouth again. His head bobbed slowly up and down, lapping the soft skin with his tongue and listening to the sounds Malik made in response.

"G-Gods, Bakura...oh, more, please..."

Bakura gave the toy a teasing swivel, and Malik let out a high-pitched moan.

"There! Oh, fuck, there!"

_Found you._

Bakura grinned in triumph. He sucked gently on the head of Malik's cock as he continued to tease his prostate, and Malik writhed beneath him, his hot, gasping breaths tickling Bakura's skin. He didn't mind that Malik was so distracted he'd given up the rimjob. It was worth it to behold Malik so lost in his pleasure.

A dial at the very base of the toy caught Bakura's eye, and a wicked smile spread across his face. Twisting it, the toy jumped in his hand and began buzzing. Malik screamed in rapture, hands grabbing Bakura's hips and holding tightly.

"Oh my fucking god! Oh, yes! Yes! Bakura please - ah! _F-Fum, fum-_ mouth! Use your mouth!"

Bakura pressed the toy in deeper, and took Malik back into his mouth. He felt Malik's tongue swirling around his hole again, that blissful jolt of pleasure he couldn’t help but love. Malik was far too distracted to focus, but that was fine, really. Rendering him blind to the world from pleasure, until he'd forgotten how to speak words Bakura understood - that was honestly better than any rimjob Bakura could ever hope to receive.

He licked, and sucked, and took Malik as deep into his throat as he could while all-out fucking his lover with the vibrating toy. It slid in and out easily now, with Malik relaxed and eager for more. He bucked his hips up, making the toy slam deeper inside his ass and his cock threaten to breach the back of Bakura's throat.

"B-Bakur - _ah - !_ Bakura, I...oh, don't stop, _don't stop, don't stop - !"_

Malik tossed his head back, dug his fingers into Bakura's thighs, and with a particularly hard press of the toy into his prostate, his release shot into Bakura's expectant mouth.

All the strength seemed to leave Malik’s body as he settled, boneless, into the mattress. “Holy fuck,” he whispered. “Holy fuck.”

Bakura wasn’t overly impressed by the warmth and taste of the liquid coating his tongue, but it wasn’t unbearable, and he swallowed with minimal grumbling as he turned the toy off and pulled it out to chuck it aside. He looked over his shoulder at Malik, taking in his completely wrecked hair, half-lidded eyes and full, parted, panting lips. He looked as though he’d just run a marathon, but here he was, underneath Bakura and shivering in post-orgasmic bliss. Bakura could have taken a picture of his face and gazed at it in wonder for all eternity, but alas, the camera on his phone was crap, so he rolled off instead and swivelled round to face Malik, drinking in his beauty.

“What now?”

Malik giggled, fluttering his sand-coloured lashes, and spread his legs a little wider. “I think you know what now."

Bakura swallowed the retort stuck in his throat, and reached for the lube once more with a shaking hand. Malik just looked so damn _good_ like that. “Well, if your performance last time is anything to go by, this is going to be an awkward ride.”

“Oh?” Malik smirked. “A _ride,_ you say?”

Before Bakura could reply, Malik pounced, and he found himself flat on his back with a surprised, _“mmph!”_

“What the hell, Malik?” Bakura growled.

Malik smiled down at Bakura as he straddled his pale thighs. “Just giving you what you want.”

Uncapping the lube, he drizzled a good amount over Bakura’s shaft and stroked it in teasingly with his fingers. Bakura gasped and closed his eyes, forfeiting himself to the Egyptian’s touch.

And then Malik was raising himself up, and….and… _oh, mother of Ra, yes, yes, yes!_

Surely it had to be illegal to feel so much pleasure. This shouldn’t be possible. But it was, and it was happening, and it was real; Malik sat astride Bakura’s hips with his knees spread out wide, his back bowed and mouth open with sweet little pants as he impaled himself on Bakura’s cock. All coherent thought flew from Bakura’s mind; all he could do was sink his nails into the firm copper skin of Malik’s thighs, and moan as if he couldn’t get enough.

“How does it feel?” Malik whispered. The tight muscles of his stomach rolled with every rock of his hips, an undulating wave of silt-coloured perfection.

As Bakura looked up at Malik, he felt the impetuous need to tell him just how beautiful he was, lovemaking or not. How he longed to comb his fingers through Malik’s soft blonde hair, and kiss his cheeks, and hold him close in slumber. He snorted, however, and replied with, “It’s adequate.”

“Just adequate?” Malik laughed. He gave a particularly hard snap of his hips, and Bakura cried out in wordless ecstasy. “I think you’re enjoying it more than you’re letting on, _habibi.”_

“F-Fuck you, Ishtar…”

Malik flashed Bakura a wink, and changed his tactic, beginning to bounce instead of rock. Bakura clutched at Malik’s thighs harder, already wanting to scream until his throat was hoarse. _Fuck,_ it felt amazing, so amazing Bakura worried he wasn’t going to last long enough. Damn Malik climaxing first, he could probably go for ages now, and with Bakura so worked up and excited, there was no chance of him lasting.

He sat up quickly, knocking Malik off-balance, but he drew the warm, soft body to his chest and ceased his movements. “Slow down,” he murmured.

Malik laughed softly, still drawing his hips up and down. “I don’t think so.”

“I mean it.” Bakura dug his fingers into Malik’s hips, harder than he intended, but Malik squirmed and groaned in response, a positive reaction.

“You can’t dominate me, Kura,” Malik flashed Bakura a crooked smile.

Bakura couldn’t tell if Malik was teasing him or issuing him a challenge. Either way, he had no intention of letting Malik and his damn flirty reluctance take control. Returning Malik’s evil grin, he wrapped an arm round Malik’s waist and flipped them suddenly, pressing Malik onto his back. The Egyptian opened his mouth, eyes wide, but before he could speak, Bakura grabbed him again and jerked him over onto his belly.

"We'll see about that."

Had Bakura not already been privy to Malik's mutilated back, he wouldn't have attempted such a vulnerable position with him. Had he not spent time massaging him, running his fingers so lovingly over his skin, he wouldn't have dared even to think about asking. But he knew he was safe enough now, and he'd listen if Malik wanted him to stop.

He slammed inside Malik's ass, shoving his hips into the mattress. Malik cried out and arched his back, but Bakura netted a hand into his hair and kept him pinned down.

"B-Bakura - " Malik gasped. "Don't - oh god - "

Bakura eased back a notch. "Do I need to stop?"

"No!" Malik's voice was shrill and needy. "No, don't stop!"

That was all the confirmation Bakura needed. Releasing his grip on Malik's hair, he instead slid his hands over the top of Malik's and leaned over, pressing against the scarred skin below him. The position felt intimate and close, and Malik uttered a breathless moan of desire as Bakura began to move again.

His thrusts became rough, deep and relentless, a steady pounding that had Malik biting the bedclothes to muffle his cries of pleasure. Bakura's cheeks heated up despite their position, at hearing how undone Malik was becoming beneath him.

"Who's the one being dominated now?" Bakura growled in Malik's ear.

Malik laughed in response. "I-Is that all y-you've got, _habibi?"_

"Oh, fuck you." Bakura gave a particularly hard snap of his hips, making Malik scream again.

"Yes! Yes! Yes! Fuck!" Malik quivered, hands digging into the sheets. "Gods, Bakura! Your cock feels incredible!"

_Such a brat._ Bakura was amused by Malik's attitude, and that it took little to completely unravel him into a sweating, moaning mess. At that thought, Bakura felt himself climbing. He pressed a kiss behind Malik's ear and changed his pace, slowing down to languid rocking against his lover.

Malik was searing hot and incredibly tight, even after their playing with the stupid, bright pink dildo. His moans and screams made the fire burn brighter in Bakura’s stomach and lightning flash through his veins. The whole experience was so delicious, it threatened to consume him whole.

Malik began pushing back into Bakura’s thrusts, and the resulting pressure on Bakura’s cock had him shaking with the need for release. “A-Are you close?” Malik asked.

“I’d be closer if you shut up,” Bakura snapped.

“Mmm…I can feel it…oh, _habibi…”_

“M-Malik - !”

“Oh, please! Come inside me! Fill me, _habibi!”_

“Damn you, damn you – oh, fuck…” Bakura completely lost it at Malik’s dirty talk. His loins tightened, his passion flared, and he slumped over Malik’s back with a defeated groan.

They laid together for a time, breathing heavily, still stacked one on top of the other. Gradually, their breathing slowed, and Bakura felt himself dozing off, so comfortable was he, nestled against Malik’s warm skin. They remained like that until Malik began shifting uncomfortably. Bakura pulled away from him and crashed down to the mattress, wrapping his arms round Malik’s waist and nuzzling his head into the crook of his neck.

“Ah, Kura, you’ve reverted to your usual soft kitty self,” Malik grinned as he petted Bakura’s hair.

“Go fuck yourself, Ishtar.”

“It was fun though, right? Being in control this time?”

Bakura raised his head, returning Malik’s grin. “You bet.”

“Perhaps I’ll bottom for you every now and then…if you’ve been a good boy.”

“How is one a good boy in your eyes?”

“Now, that - ” Malik rolled on top of Bakura and pecked him playfully on the nose, - “is something you shall have to figure out on your own.”

Bakura laughed, eager for the challenge. “Deal.”

Malik leaned down for a kiss, but before their lips could touch, a buzzing, tinny rendition of “One Winged Angel” began playing from the living room. Bakura groaned and shoved Malik away, then hopped off the bed and located the source of the racket inside the pocket of his jeans. Ryou’s name flashed up on the screen of his phone, and he hit “Accept” quickly before putting the call on loudspeaker. “This had better be good, _yadonushi!”_ he snapped.

“First of all, fuck you, second, you’re a dick, and third, fuck you.” It was Kek rather than Ryou, and he sounded exasperated. Bakura could just imagine the hunk of Egyptian muscle pinching the bridge of his nose and rolling his eyes. “If you’re quite done screwing my brother, get your asses back over here, we’re ready.”

“Seriously? I haven’t even had time to sleep yet!”

“Not my problem,” Kek replied, “but it _is_ yours, considering we’re gonna attempt to take back your godforsaken soul. I repeat, get your asses over here. I am _not_ dealing with this fucking portal in my living room a minute longer.”

Kek put the phone down, and Bakura chucked it onto the sofa with a frustrated groan.

“What’s going on?” Malik hovered in the doorway, still gloriously naked and hair all messed up from their lovemaking.

“It’s time to go on a big fucking adventure. But first, shower.” Bakura marched over to Malik, grabbed his wrist, and dragged him off towards the bathroom.

“Wait, Bakura! Don’t we need to go?”

“Malik, there is literal spunk running down your legs. Shower. Now.”

 


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_Just a short Ryou chapter here - sorry for any disappointment._ **

* * *

“Are we all ready?” Ryou asked quietly.

He surveyed the “party,” as they’d taken to calling the six of them. They certainly were a peculiar bunch.

Yugi, all black leather and heavy kohl, looked rather pleased with himself at the spells they had successfully cast around the rift, and he whispered excitedly to Atem, who looked like he might pass out from nerves. Yugi held Atem’s hands and brought them to his lips, and at that, Atem smiled, a slight pink tinge colouring his cheeks.

Kek continued to scowl at the rift, watching it intensely in case any demonic creatures did manage to break out of the shadows. Bless him, he’d been like a guard dog the whole time, protecting his territory, and Ryou loved him for it.

Malik shifted from one foot to the other, hands in his pockets, while Bakura leaned against the wall with his arms folded and eyes downcast. Both had changed their clothes, their hair damp, and Malik wasn’t wearing any of his usual makeup. Ryou smiled, amused. Kek had been spot on.

"Can we please get this over with?" Bakura pulled a hip-flask out of the pocket of his hoodie and took a short swig. "I'm so done with this shadow magic crap."

"Bakura, we're doing this for _you,"_ Atem said reproachfully.

"Oh, I'm _so_ grateful, Your Majesty."

Malik sighed. "I did suggest that getting drunk again wasn't the best idea for this, but you know what he's like."

"Shut. The fuck up. All of you," Kek snarled.

Yugi buried his head in his hands. “Oh, goodness…”

"It's okay," Ryou smiled. "I think it's only natural that we're all a bit nervous. If we're prepared, I'll remove the wards around the rift, and then we can step inside."

He knelt and picked up a small box from the floor, opening it to reveal several bundles of white sage. "I've made these up to protect us. Please take one each and keep it on your person. These alone won’t be enough, though, so be on your guard at all times. We don’t know what on earth we might find in there.”

Bakura snorted as he tucked the little bundle into his pocket. “Whatever we do find, I’m sure Diabound can ward them off.”

“So you’ll be able to protect us all, then,” Atem remarked with a raised eyebrow.

“I’m not protecting _you,_ you stuck-up fuck.”

“Delightful as always, Bakura.”

“Only for you, sweetheart.”

Kek punched Bakura’s shoulder roughly. “I said shut _up!”_

Bakura rounded on Kek, looking positively murderous in his defensive, drunken state, but Malik, who had remained silent till now, ceased his shuffling and reached out to take Bakura’s hands in his own, much how Yugi had done with Atem.

_“Hayati,”_ he murmured. Just that one word, but Bakura’s entire body visibly relaxed, and he pressed his forehead to Malik’s with a quiet groan. “I know, Kura,” Malik whispered. “I know.”

The sight made Ryou smile fondly. After so long struggling with Bakura and his whirlwind of despair, it was much welcomed to see him able to find solace in the arms of his former partner in crime. They’d all said it all along; Malik had been perfect for him from the very start.

And with that, Ryou began drawing on his magic, the spell he would cast around the party themselves before they stepped through the rift. He was competent, and knew so, but he just hoped the spell would be enough. Diabound would help, sure, but Bakura had already acknowledged that he lacked most of his power at present. The last thing Ryou wanted was any of his friends to come out of this trip injured, or worse.

The words began to roll off his tongue in a language long-dead but for those present in the room. The very air hummed with ancient power, the true testament to the old Gods.

_O powers of light, who guide our path,_

_Breathe unto us thy blessing,_

_Darkness abounds, and peace is threatened,_

_We seek thy divinity above._

_O powers of light, holy protector,_

_Thine servants beseech thee,_

_Be at our backs, steady our swords, calm our hearts,_

_Cut the veil of shadow._

As Ryou finished his silent recital, a collective shiver ran through the room.

“Holy fuck,” Kek whispered. “My skin feels like it’s being kissed all over.”

“So powerful…” Atem closed his eyes and brushed his fingers through the air. “Ryou, your mastery of _heka_ is truly remarkable.”

“Thanks,” Ryou giggled. “I do try.”

Bakura looked rather impressed, but after a moment his expression dropped into its usual scowl. “Yes, magic, big whoop,” he muttered, shoving Malik aside. “Let’s go already.”

“Bakura - !” Malik gasped –

…But the former thief had stepped into the rift and vanished.

_“Al-abalah!_ You fucking moron!” Malik rushed after him, the darkness swallowing him eagerly.

“Really?!” Kek yelled. “Thanks for the warning, fuckers!” He was next through.

Yugi giggled, tugging on Atem’s hand. “I guess it’s us next, _mou hitori no boku.”_

“Is it time to admit I’m really freaking out about this?” Atem grinned. “Because I am freaking the hell out right now.”

“That’s okay. We’ll freak out together.” Yugi pecked Atem on the brow, and they stepped through the rift together.

That just left Ryou. He surveyed the room with careful eyes, taking stock of the surroundings. If anything was out of place when he returned, he’d be sure to do some extra purification afterwards.

He sighed heavily. “I am never going to get my essay written at this rate. Bye, 2:1. Nice knowing you.”

As he hopped through the darkness, he couldn’t help but smile. _Let’s face it, a foray into the deep, dark unknown is much more appealing than bashing out 2,000 words on Karnak. I’ll never change!_


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_Okay, folks - from here on, the story takes a darker turn. I'll be sure to give you the appropriate content warnings as they come, but you're safe for this chapter, nothing untoward to speak of here aside from Malik's hopeless attempt at being romantic._ **

* * *

Through Diabound’s eyes, the world looked muted, dulled, a lifelessness that was difficult to express with words. It had been sand, sand…maybe a bit more sand? Was it definitely sand?

Now, though…seeing it for himself…

_Nope, not even going to bother trying to describe this clusterfuck that is quite clearly my –_

“Bakura!”

A heavy weight descended on Bakura’s back, knocking him swiftly to his knees. “Oops, sorry,” Malik gasped, disentangling himself from his lover. “Why the hell did you go straight in like that?” he demanded.

Bakura shrugged. “Might as well get it all out of the way so I can go home and actually get some fucking work done for once.”

“Hey, don’t even start with this again! You were the one who wanted your soul back, and now you’re _bitching_ about getting your soul back! I swear to god I – ”

Kek stepped through the rift at that moment, glowering. “How many times am I going to have to tell you two to shut up?” he growled. “You’re giving me a serious headache here.”

“Sucks to be you,” Bakura hissed.

“Go fuck yourself, drunk-ass prick.”

“I’m offended. I’m not _nearly_ drunk enough for you to be calling me that.” As if to prove a point, Bakura pulled out his hipflask and took a hearty swig. “Give me, oh, ten minutes, and then we can try again.”

“God, I hate you.”

Bakura folded his arms, huffed, and turned away resolutely from Kek. His eyes roved the deadened landscape before them, hating how familiar it was and knowing he wouldn’t be the only one to know just what it was they were seeing. His hand slipped down to wrap slim fingers round Malik’s wrist, feeling the pulse beneath his skin and letting the soothing throb ground him back in whatever sense of normality he still possessed.

_“Habibi?”_

“I’m okay.”

The blackness of the rift shimmered, and Yugi appeared, followed by Atem. Yugi’s bush-baby eyes practically lit up as he took in the world around them. “Amazing!” he exclaimed. “I was expecting something straight out of a Shadow Game, but this is fantastic! Atem, look at this! Look at – oh, um…Atem?”

The Pharaoh glanced around uneasily, and Bakura despised the look in his eyes, so similar to but so unlike Yugi’s at the same time. He turned to Bakura, gazing at him through a fringe of thick lashes.

“Bakura…this is…this is _Kemet, isn_ ’t it?”

There was little point in arguing with the question, so Bakura nodded stiffly. “Seems to be.”

“You didn’t tell us that when you sent Diabound in before.”

“I couldn’t tell then. It looks different when I see through Diabound.” Bakura shivered. “Feels the same, though - hot and fucking dreary. I don’t like it.”

Where in Egypt was this? There were no discernible landmarks to be seen, but it _felt_ like the home he’d lost so long ago. How was this possible?

Were they looking through somebody’s memories? Had they travelled to the past? Had Zorc returned from eternal condemnation for one more god damn game campaign? Bakura was pissed off at just the thought, and tried to banish it by sipping more vodka from his hipflask as he looked anywhere but at the former Pharaoh.

Finally, Ryou joined them. His face gave nothing away, as neutral and observant as ever, as he nestled into Kek’s side and looked around at the party. “Oh, good, we’re all here,” he smiled.

“Snowflake,” Kek groaned. “Why must you be so damn _pleased_ with this creepy shit?”

“You knew what you were taking on when you fell into my arms,” winked Ryou.

“Technically, you fell over my shoulders while I tried to strangle Atem, but I get what you mean, and you’re still weird.”

“I love you too.”

Malik cleared his throat. “Okay, so…I guess we start walking.”

“Where do we go?” Yugi asked.

Bakura put his hipflask away and rolled his shoulders back with a distinct _pop._ A moment later, Diabound appeared, hovering above Bakura with its snake-like tail draped almost protectively over his torso. Atem sucked in a sharp breath at the reappearance of the god- _ka,_ but neither Diabound nor Bakura paid him any mind.

“Which way?” Bakura murmured.

Diabound swung its human head left and right, while the snake head remained motionless on Bakura’s shoulder, lazily flicking its tongue. It hissed quietly when Atem and Yugi took a few steps closer to observe their surroundings, but regarded Ryou with what could only be described as reptilian friendliness, whatever that may be. Either way, it allowed Ryou to scratch between its eyes with no complaint.

“I’m beyond amazed at the sheer strength I feel from your _ka,_ Bakura,” Ryou marvelled.

“Heh. Did you expect anything else?” Bakura’s lips lifted in a thin smile. Diabound glanced down at Bakura a moment later, and Bakura nodded, flashing a thumbs-up. “Straight on? Cool.”

With a brief wave of his hand, Diabound vanished. The party stared at him, waiting for an answer that never came in words; Bakura stuck his hands in his pockets and marched off in the direction Diabound had indicated, leaving everyone else to hurry after him.

_This place is so fucking surreal…_

Bakura would have given a lot to be back at home right now, a mug of coffee in his hands and a blanket over his knees. Maybe Malik would cuddle up under it too, if his mind so desired the imagination. A pleasant shiver ran through Bakura at the memory of Malik’s skin against his, the sweet smell of his hair, the taste of his lips. The contentment he felt in those moments tipped the scales completely compared to the dull despair creeping up on him in this bleak, Egyptian landscape.

_Where the actual fuck are we? This is pissing me off._

“Kura! Wait up, will you?”

Malik’s breathless shout made Bakura look over his shoulder. Only the top of his head bobbed in and out of view as he ascended the rather steep, sandy incline; the others walked in formation some distance behind.

When Malik finally reached Bakura, he had to pause a moment to catch his breath, leaning over and rubbing his chest as he wheezed. "You okay?” Bakura frowned.

“Yeah, just…phew…you walk fast.” Malik straightened up, his twinkling lavender eyes surveying the dull hills of sand beyond them. “This is like a real blast from the past, huh, _habibi?”_

“I’ll say.”

“Where are we going?”

“Dunno. Just where Diabound pointed out to me.”

“It didn’t say anything to you.”

“We can communicate without spoken words. It’s remarkable, really. You should try it, then I wouldn’t have to actually hear you bitching all the damn time.”

Malik threw his head back and laughed. “You’re a dick, you know that?”

“That’s why you love me.”

The laughter ceased instantly, and Malik’s cheeks flushed crimson, ruddy and dark against the brown hue of his skin. Bakura raised an eyebrow at him, but any words on the tip of Malik’s tongue seemed to stutter and die before they could fully make themselves heard.

"Um, Bakura..." Malik clasped his hands behind his back, and Bakura blinked rapidly, not used to seeing Malik so clearly nervous about _anything._ "Listen, I...can I give you something to keep hold of?" Malik continued. "Who knows, it might be a good luck charm whilst you're in here." Without waiting for an answer, he unclasped his hands and stuck the left one into a pocket of his cargo pants. "Don't you fucking dare lose this, because it belonged to my mother and it's all I have of her, but I just...want you to have it for a while, okay?"

"What the fuck is - " Bakura caught himself; now wasn't the time to be arguing. "I mean, whatever, go ahead," he shrugged.

Malik beamed brightly as he picked up Bakura's left hand with his right, withdrawing a slim gold band from his pocket with his other hand. Bakura's eyebrows crept towards his forehead once more. He'd expected something like a pebble, a scrap of cloth, maybe. A ring was...well...

Malik dithered back and forth with the band, hesitating several seconds over Bakura's ring finger where the fit seemed to be best. Whatever thought was going through Malik's head, he didn't voice it; eventually slid the ring onto Bakura's finger and nodded, satisfied. "Fits perfectly."

Bakura raised his hand to inspect the ring, allowing the overhead sun to glint off it in blinding arcs. Nothing remarkable stood out about the plain band - he'd plundered trinkets far more beautiful than this old thing - and it showed clear signs of age, but he didn't give a damn about any of that. That Malik trusted him with something so sentimental left a warm, fuzzy feeling collecting somewhere within Bakura's chest. _I must be reading too much into this._

"I'll hang onto it," he grinned. "If you're nice enough to me, I might even give it back - "

A flicker of activity below them, on the other side of the sprawling hill, caught his attention. A gentle glimmer of burnished silver and bronze, here one moment and gone the next; Bakura immediately grabbed hold of Malik and forced him down to the ground. “What the fuck?!” Malik hissed in Bakura’s ear.

“Hush a moment,” Bakura whispered. Edging forward, he peered out over the edge of the hill. Malik followed suit.

A silver-haired child crouched in the sand and dust below. Naked except for a tarnished gold bracelet around his wrist, he appeared to be prodding with a twig at something in front of him. A moment later, he let out a yell and leapt back, followed by a high peal of laughter.

“You’re not scary at all! I think I will take you home with me.”

The “not scary” object of note turned out to be a sand boa, its scales a splotchy assortment of yellow and brown. Its body was short and thick, only very young, but it struck quickly at the child in obvious disapproval at being played with. The child continued to laugh as he picked up the snake and held it with one hand behind its head, so it couldn’t twist around to bite him. Its tail coiled around his wrist and held tightly, its tongue flickering in and out.

“You’re cute! Okay, let’s go. Don’t struggle too much, alright? I want to show you to my mama.”

The child turned on his heel and began a fast, excited jog through the desert, away from the eyes watching him intently.

Malik turned to Bakura, his mouth hanging open. “Bakura…” he whispered. “Was that…?”

“Mm-hm. That’s me.” Bakura regarded the child with a reminiscent expression. “We must be looking through my past.”

A series of scrabbles and curses followed his words, and he straightened up to see Ryou and the others clambering up onto the hill. “Oi, slowpokes, you missed out on my marvellous first appearance," he called.

“What?” Ryou frowned.

“We saw baby Bakura!” Malik laughed.

“Hey, fuck you, I was like four years old there. How many babies pick up snakes to take them home with them? I was an awesome kid.”

Kek rolled his eyes. “I think I speak for most of us here when I say you were probably still an asshole, just with a squeakier voice.”

“And I’m sure you sounded just like a regular Mafia don by the time you wormed yourself out of Malik’s head.”

“Kids have high voices, am I right?” Ryou trilled, clapping his hands together. The expression on his face was so endearing that Bakura and Kek both sighed, losing their motivation to argue.

Yugi gestured down the hill, to the retreating child’s back. “Should we follow?” he asked.

“Do you think he can see or interact with us?” Atem wondered.

Bakura shrugged. “I don’t know. Either way, butterfly effect and all that – I don’t think we should go around talking to people in this place. Something might seriously fuck up.”

“Oh, tragedy,” Kek grinned. “I was hoping I could squish a bug and see you go out like a light – ow! Snowflake!” Kek rubbed his arm and threw a reproachful glare at Ryou, who had promptly thumped him to shut him up.

“Stop that,” Ryou said firmly. “We’re not here to argue, we’re here to literally save Bakura’s soul. So, if we’re all quite done acting like children, shall we go?”

Thank goodness _one_ of them amongst the party could keep their head level. Bakura threw an appreciative arm round Ryou’s shoulders and began walking again.

**_I sense a powerful darkness at play here._ **

The low, sombre voice penetrated Bakura’s mind without filtering through the air, and his head flicked up ever so slightly in acknowledgement. It was rare that Diabound had ever spoken to him through his thoughts alone. **_I believe this is a test of your strength and desire to live on. Are you prepared?_**

Bakura scowled. _I don’t think I’ll ever be prepared. I’m pretty much winging it on this one._

**_Place more trust in yourself, Bakhure. You have faced the darkness before._ **

It was true, but that didn’t stop the uneasy knotting sensation in Bakura’s stomach. Rolling plains of sand stretched out for miles in every direction around them, but by following the footprints of his past self, they managed to stay relatively on track.

“It’s so hot,” Yugi groaned, fanning his face. “If I’d have known we were going into a desert, I’d have left all my leather at home.”

“I like it,” Atem grinned.

“Obviously. You used to live here.”

“So did Bakura, but he looks pretty fed up with the heat himself.”

He wasn’t wrong, in all fairness; Bakura’s hair stuck to his face from sweat and he now rather regretted throwing on his thickest hoodie on the way out of the apartment. Back in the day, with his darker skin and cooler linen apparel, he could tolerate being hot, but after several years accustomed to rain, snow and the heaven that was air conditioning, the burning Egyptian sun held no positives.

It felt as though they walked for hours, and though Ryou and Yugi occasionally sent the odd little spell out to check their safety, nothing of note made to attack them, apart from a stray scorpion that managed to hook its stinger into the trailing hem of Kek’s jeans. He shook it off with a muttered curse and kicked some sand at it, earning a reproachful glare from Malik. “What?” Kek scowled. “Those fuckers can kill you!”

“It’s still an animal. Don’t be mean to it.”

“You Mother Earth hippy!”

Their argument descended into sharp bursts of Arabic, but Bakura ignored them and kept walking. They had to be getting closer to some kind of civilisation now.

_I can feel it…_

_Home…_

_I’m coming home…_

The first landmark that Bakura found he recognised was an old mud brick hut beside a crumbling, dried-up well. Once upon a time, that hut had been used as a stable for horses; Bakura remembered hiding in that stable, trying desperately to stifle his giggles as he played with his friends. How long ago that had been now…it felt like… _was…_ a lifetime ago.

His heart ached in his chest, revulsion rising in his throat like bile. Reminiscing on his hometown tasted bitter.

But this had to be done.

He’d started it when he’d been strong enough to cry for help.

Now he had to be strong enough to end it.

And as the disorganised, dilapidated buildings of Kul Elna came into view, he held his head high, clenched his fists, and barged through to the place he once called his own.


	23. Chapter 23

Bakura hadn’t heard the term “triggered” before, but if someone had explained the definition to him at that moment, he would have agreed wholeheartedly that that was what he was experiencing.

Dark eyes swept around at his home, confidence crumbling and heart racing, mind beginning to push away the realisation that _this was Kul Elna itself._ Dammit, he hadn’t been ready for this.

_The screaming…all I can hear is the screaming…_

“Bakura!”

_Make it stop!_

“Bakura! Hey! What’s wrong?”

The prickle of sharp stones cutting into his knees prodded him back into reality. When had he ended up on the ground? Fuck, how embarrassing. He looked up with a scrunched-up face, at Ryou kneeling beside him, gazing into his eyes with concern. On his other side, Malik combed his fingers through Bakura’s hair.

“Are you alright?” Ryou whispered.

Bakura managed a small nod. His words couldn’t come, and panic flooded his insides when he tried. He allowed Ryou to hold his hands and murmur soft words of comfort, allowed Malik to continue stroking his hair…calming…grounding...real…

Around them, the sparse scatterings of village folk went about their everyday lives, undisturbed, seemingly unable to see or hear the strange party of six intruding on their town.

After a few minutes, Bakura felt composed enough to struggle to his feet and take a proper look around. With the initial dissociation and panic out of the way, he pulled away from Ryou and leaned into Malik’s touch.

“Okay?” Malik asked quietly. The hand not in Bakura’s hair brushed over the ring on Bakura’s finger, and Bakura fought back a smile at the sight of his “good luck charm” glittering away against the pallor of his skin.

“Better,” Bakura murmured.

“Good. We don’t want to lose you in here, _habibi.”_

Bakura nuzzled Malik’s cheek fondly. “Let’s not lose anybody. Well, except maybe Atem.”

“Charming,” Atem sniffed. “In any case, Bakura…care to give us a tour?”

“Yeah, why not.” Bakura grabbed Malik’s hand and started walking.

_This is the house where the healer lived. She was a crazy old lady, but she could make anything better, and she was always there to deliver babies. I remember her being there for the birth of my sister. She had no teeth and was half-blind, but by touch alone she knew how my sister was going to emerge into the world. She was the oldest person in the village and we were all in awe of how long she had lived._

_This is the well. Not much to say about it, but the odd kid fell down it and had to be rescued. They didn’t always make it out alive. Sad, really._

_This is the tavern where the men used to meet after their hard days and nights robbing tombs so we could survive. All our usual work had dried up and families were starving, and the Pharaoh never did anything to help us, so we took it upon ourselves to plunder the resting places of the very catacombs we had built._

_And this…_

They stopped in front of a mud hut, quite unremarkable and almost identical to all the other buildings in the village. A faded sheet of linen covered the front entrance, and sitting beneath the rough-hewn window was the child, Bakura’s past self.

_This was my home._

The child had acquired a split lip since the party last saw him, and he whimpered as he dabbed at it with the hem of the linen _shenti_ he now wore wrapped round his waist. The remnants of tears cut streaks through the heavy grime on his face.

Ryou gave a little gasp, hand over his mouth. “Oh, goodness!” he exclaimed. “What happened?”

Bakura could only smile. “I remember this. Turns out my mother didn’t take kindly to me bringing snakes inside when she was nursing my sister. She gave me a cracking smack around my jaw and sent me out to release it.”

Kek threw his head back and laughed. “You fucking idiot.”

The cloth fluttered aside, and a tiny girl stepped into the outer yard. Like most Ancient Egyptian children, she wore nothing, but her long, black hair was elaborately braided and embellished with tiny beads and woven grass. She looked to be no more than three years old. As she looked around, she sucked on her thumb and hummed a cheery, off-beat tune to herself.

“Is that your sister?” Malik asked Bakura.

He nodded. “Satiah. She was such a cheeky little brat.”

Yugi smiled sadly. “She’s cute.”

“Hmph. You wouldn’t be saying that if she was pulling your hair. Which, by the way, she did to me. All. The. Fucking. Time.”

Satiah was toddling over to young Bakura now, and promptly flopped down into his lap. “Sati!” he complained, but she threw her arms round his neck and held tightly. After a moment, he relaxed and rested his head against hers. “I didn’t mean to scare _Mama,”_ he whispered. “I just wanted to show her my pet. I liked him. Did you?”

Satiah giggled. “Bakhure. Snake gone?”

“Yeah, the snake’s gone.”

“Get it?”

“No, I might get smacked again.”

The little girl gave a sniff, then scowled. “Snaaaaaaake!” she wailed.

“I know, Sati. Look, maybe one day _Mama_ will let me take you outside the village, and then we can look for all the snakes we want. What do you think?”

“Yes! Bakhure? Look for snakes?”

“Absolutely.” Bakhure pulled Satiah a little closer and kissed her forehead. “You’re gonna love it for sure.”

“Mm, I love Bakhure. Bakhure. Brother! Love Bakhure!”

_Oh lord, was I really that much of a sickly sap?_ Bakura could have gagged at the realisation that he really had doted on the tiny little girl. Was this what his nightmare of a foray into his past going to be? An endless showreel of the things that made him feel sick to his stomach? Fuck that. Soul be damned, it would be too much.

The cloth fluttered again, and this time a short, stout woman emerged. Her hair was dark like Satiah’s, oiled and drawn back into a tight bun, and she wore a simple _kalasiris_ that reached her ankles, while copper bracelets and a faience-studded choker adorned her wrists and throat. The lines on her weather-beaten face made her look older than the mid-twenties she was, but a twinkle of knowledge and wisdom shone in her slate-grey eyes.

Bakura’s breath caught in his chest. He’d known she would emerge, having committed this day to memory firmly, but still…

_Mama…it’s been so long._

“Come on, you two! Back inside now, your supper is ready.” Meryt pointed back inside the house, and Bakhure fitted Satiah onto his hip to carry her in. He paused a moment, looking up at his mother with reproachful eyes. “Yes, moonbeam?” Meryt asked, stroking the top of his head.

_“Mama,_ my lip hurts.”

“I’m sure it does. Please don’t bring any more snakes into the house, Bakhure. I have a hard enough time getting rid of the ones that are already here.”

“Yes, _Mama.”_

“Thank you, my sweet child.” Meryt stooped and kissed Bakhure’s brow. “Wash your hands before you eat. Goodness knows what other disgusting things you’ve had your hands on today besides snakes!”

As Bakhure took Satiah inside the house, the scene around them began to waver and distort. The party whipped around frantically, curious and worried and completely fascinated all at the same time, and they pressed their bodies together urgently in case they were separated. “What the actual fuck?” Bakura yelled.

“I don’t know!” Yugi shouted back.

“Hold onto each other’s hands!” Kek barked. They all scrabbled for the nearest patch of skin they could find, and clung tight. Bakura could have screamed as he ended up holding Atem’s hand _yet a-fucking-gain,_ but he’d take that over whatever the fuck was going on right now.

In his confused haze, Bakura found himself locking onto the only thing that felt familiar, that hadn’t changed; his mother, still standing there, bold as brass, as solid and unbreakable as they themselves were. She wasn’t shifting or dissolving like the landscape. Why?

“Keep going, Bakhure,” she said, and with a jolt he realised _she could see them._ “Keep going,” she repeated. “It’s going to be hard, but I have faith in you.”

_“Mama -  !”_

The faintest hint of scarlet flashed in her eyes. “Just a little longer.”

As Meryt vanished, everything went black. Through the deadened lack of colour, Bakura felt, rather than heard, Malik’s panicked gasp. A wave of white-hot fury coursed through Bakura’s body; gods be damned, he wasn’t going to let anything here scare Malik! Diabound burst from him before he had the chance to realise he’d summoned him. The only light in the blackness, Diabound wrapped itself around them all, illuminating the party in soft, holy comfort.

“Oops,” Bakura grinned. “Wasn’t supposed to do that.”

Malik disentangled himself from Kek’s arms and leapt into Bakura’s. “Thank you,” he breathed. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” Bakura scratched his head self-consciously.

“Well, whaddya know?” Kek snorted. “The drunken loon has some use after all.”

Before Bakura could reply with his most acid-tongued quip, Yugi pointed suddenly, an excited yell coming from him. “Something’s changing!” he exclaimed.

“I wonder what we will see next,” Ryou murmured.

“Well, there’s been no demons so far, so I’m kind of hoping it stays that way,” Atem said. “My magic isn’t all that amazing these days, so, um…I can’t see myself summoning Osiris anytime soon.”

“You won’t need to,” Bakura muttered. “There’s enough fire here.”

“Hm?”

There was no other way to describe this feeling. He just knew…he knew what was coming next.

The soft red light bathing them all now…how little they knew…and how much they would know.

_Be strong…be strong…_

_You survived this once…you can do it again…_

A shrill scream tore through the silence around them.

“It begins.” Bakura’s voice was hollow.

“What begins?” Malik whispered.

“The slaughter.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_"Satiah" is an Ancient Egyptian name meaning "daughter of the moon."_ **


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_CW for blood and character deaths - though you knew this was coming, right? Please tread carefully._ **

* * *

He’d heard about it, sure. Told at great length, at a time when all he wanted to do was block out the truth, deny that there had been any wrongdoing. He knew better now, and that would never be enough; no amount of atonement would be enough.

This, though…

How did Bakura survive this?

The tears on Atem’s cheeks evaporated into salty trails as the heat around them intensified, merciless flames licking through the once-rustic little village. Blood slicked the sand under their feet, and bodies lay prone as the sound of bronze flashed through air heavy with smoke and screams. As Atem watched, unable to tear his eyes away, a soldier yanked back the head of a whimpering woman and cut her throat with one well-practised slash of his dagger. She dropped to the ground, a horrible gurgling, choking noise bubbling from her mouth.

_This is monstrous! Unforgiveable!_

Atem gagged, clapping a hand over his mouth and breathing heavily, but the smoke-not-smoke – however real it felt – clogged his lungs and seared his nose. He wanted to cling to Yugi, bury his face in his hair and pretend none of this was happening.

But he couldn’t... _couldn't_...how could he...? when Bakura stood tall and silent, proud and powerful. He shed no tears for the massacre of his people, even as they fell, one by one, around him. His body shook, and his skin paled in the ruddy light of the flames, but his emotion never wavered once.

“The royal guard did this,” Bakura said quietly, and though he wasn’t looking at Atem, the former Pharaoh knew he was the one being addressed. “They came in the night and dragged us from our beds. Everything they could set fire to, they did. The stronger villagers they took to the pit, to be boiled alive in gold. The others…well…you can see for yourself.”

Kek wept openly as he tottered to his knees. “I-I can't...this is barbaric...!" Ryou dropped down wordlessly to embrace him, his face white and hands shaking. "Dammit, Bakura,” Kek muttered into Ryou's shoulder, “make me respect you a little, why don’t you. How did you get through this?”

“Royal tombs hold some fucking good booze.” The hint of a sardonic smile lifted the corner of Bakura's lips, but his face was as devoid of colour as Ryou's as he beheld the massacre before them. With a sigh, he gestured a little way away. “That’s me...over there.”

The child, Bakhure, a little older than the last time they saw him, peered around the corner of a half-ruined wall. Dirt and blood coated his face and clothes, and his hair was frazzled from the fire. Every inch of him trembled, everything but his eyes, which stared, lustreless and dead.

“I ran,” Bakura said, his voice barely audible over the crackling of the flames, “after they stormed the house and stabbed my mother in the stomach. She fell, and I grabbed my sister and tried to hide us.”

“Satiah, did she…?” Atem croaked.

Bakura rounded on Atem, jaw set and eyes narrowed. “What do you think, moron?! She died like the rest of them!” He sniffed and dragged the hem of his sleeve furiously over his eyes. “She pulled away from me and ran to go back to our mother…and…and...”

The scene unfolded before them – Satiah’s dark head suddenly peering out from between Bakhure’s legs. With lightning-quick movements, she scrabbled from behind her brother and fled into the centre of the massacre, screaming out for her mama.

“Sati! No!” Bakhure gasped, and every muscle in his body jerked out of its frozen state to chase after the scared little girl.

She made it as far as the front yard of their house when a blood-soaked Meryt toppled through the cloth covering the entryway. Breathing heavily and trembling, she clutched a soiled rag to her belly, trying to stem the flow seeping through her dress and running down her fingers. When she saw her children running towards her, sudden fire burned in her eyes, brighter and more powerful than the flames licking at the walls of their village.

She reached out with her free hand towards them –

_So close, so close…_

_Please..._

Atem hid his face in his hands, unable to watch anymore -

_N-No!_

The snick of metal sliding through flesh and bone...far too loud amidst the carnage...

Satiah looked down, pupils blown wide, shoulders rising and falling rapidly as she beheld the tip of the javelin piercing through her back to her chest. Slowly, she looked back up to her mother, who pressed her bloodstained hands to her mouth and wailed in terror and grief.

“Ma…ma…” Satiah coughed, blood foaming on her lips. Then the soldier’s foot planted on the back of her head, and the javelin ripped out. She fell into her mother’s arms, limp and lifeless as a doll.

Bakhure stopped in his tracks, the breath knocked clean out of him. Too shocked to even scream or cry, he just stood…watching, watching…as the soldier flicked his sister’s blood from his javelin and advanced on Meryt.

Meryt lifted her head, unflinching, watching the soldier approach. She cradled her daughter’s body to her chest, bearing no mind to the blood soaking the dirt around them. There was so much, it was impossible to tell who it came from.

Her eyes, wet, scarlet, and glittering, flicked towards Bakhure. “Be strong, little one. I love you, always.”

Then the javelin swung through the air –

A burst of blood from Meryt’s neck –

She tumbled to the blood-soaked ground. Even in her dying moments, never once did she let go of her daughter’s body.

And her son couldn’t scream, couldn’t cry. He wanted to, gods, he wanted to. He wanted to fall to his knees and curse the Pharaoh, curse his men. He wanted to throw his arms around his mother and sister and pray to whatever gods might be listening that they might somehow be alive.

But it couldn’t be.

It could never be.

And Bakhure ran. Ran as fast as he could. Away from the slaughter, away from his family…away from his home.

The sole survivor…little did he know how infamous he would become...

“Enough.”

Bakura’s soft words broke the illusion, and blackness descended on them once again. As before, Diabound appeared around them all, maintaining some light and protection.

As the smell of blood and smoke vanished from the air, Atem lifted his head from its shelter within the palms of his hands. Never before had he felt so helpless, so responsible…so guilty. He’d done much in his lifetime, some forgivable, some not so much. Losing Yugi to the Seal of Orichalcos had almost broken him, and for so long, that had been the heaviest burden on his aching soul. He had atoned for that, or so Yugi always insisted.

This…could never be atoned for. Never.

“This should never have happened…” Atem sobbed. “Bakura…I...”

Yugi petted Atem’s hair, making soft shushing noises _. “Mou hitori no boku…_ it’s over now. It’s okay…”

“No!” Atem pushed Yugi away. “No, it will never be okay!”

Yugi gasped. “Atem - !” His purple eyes filled with tears, but after a moment he blinked them aside, and smiled. “I understand. I shouldn’t have tried to comfort you. It’s not my place right now.”

Atem gave a stiff nod. He would apologise to Yugi later, but right now, there was something else more important.

He was ready for a slap, or harsh words, or the possibility of multiple stab wounds. That was okay. Whatever Bakura deemed necessary, he would accept. It was Atem's duty, as the avatar of the Gods, to bear witness to the suffering of his people, even across millennia and lifetimes anew. Perhaps he couldn’t make things right, but he could show that he cared.

So when he wound his arms round Bakura’s stomach and drew him in for a firm embrace, he expected the violence to come quick and hard. It didn’t. All that came from Bakura was a sharp intake of breath. His pale hands came up to fist in the front of Atem’s shirt, and for a moment he thought Bakura would push him away…

“Damn you...” Bakura murmured. He curled in then, accepting the gesture, and leaned his forehead against Atem’s with a shuddering sigh. “I hate you. I hate you so much.”

“I know.” Atem’s thumbs stroked the small of Bakura’s back, feeling the warmth through his clothes, marvelling at how someone so deathly pale could radiate such heat. “I couldn’t ever ask you not to hate me. I knew…I knew about this, but…seeing it myself…oh, Bakura…”

“Don’t, Atem. I don’t want to hear it.”

Atem lifted his hands then, and cupped Bakura’s face. “I have to.”

“Oh, fuck me sideways.” A light blush coloured Bakura’s cheeks, but he didn’t pull away.

It was funny, really, the situation they were in. It was a given that nobody could ever have assumed anything like this would take place; a Pharaoh and a thief, embracing almost lovingly. Malik looked highly amused, Ryou and Kek gobsmacked. Yugi…Yugi just kept on smiling the smile that gave Atem flutters in his stomach. 

“I’m sorry,” Atem said to Bakura. “I know it isn’t enough. I won’t ever ask you to forgive me, as I likewise told your mother. I know that there’s nothing I can ever do to take your pain away...but, please…I just want you to know that anything you could ever wish to ask of me…I will be here for you. Everything I couldn’t do for you and your people when my family ruled…let me do this for you now.”

The expression that crossed Bakura’s face was completely unreadable. He simply stared down at Atem, unblinking, a carved mask in a medium of despair. It was as if words couldn’t be formed that were appropriate for the scene, and Atem still dimly wondered if he might still get stabbed after all.

Bakura huffed out a deep breath, and brushed his nose against Atem’s. A shy smile turned Atem’s lips, and he returned the gesture. The way his parents used to show their affection…the tender touching of noses…Bakura was showing him this now, an acknowledgement that meant more in actions than words ever could.

“I’ll think about it.” Bakura’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly, but the corner of his mouth twitched, and his cheeks still carried that uncharacteristic blush. “I still hate you, though.”

“Wouldn’t expect anything else.”

Bakura’s twitch became a full smile then, and he rubbed their noses together once more. “Let me go, asshole.”

“If I must.” Atem released Bakura, and he stepped back, scratching his head self-consciously at the realisation that everybody was still staring at them. “Well…um…”

A soft kiss alighted on his cheek, and he looked to the side to see Yugi beaming at him. “I’m proud of you,” he whispered. “Well done, _mou hitori no boku.”_

Atem nestled into Yugi’s side, dotting kisses over his nose and cheeks. “I’m sorry I yelled at you.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“That was beautiful, you guys.” Ryou faked dabbing tears from his eyes. “You never fail to amaze me, all of you.”

The former Pharaoh had to admire Ryou’s strength throughout everything they had been through. The soft, beautiful young man who had seen and suffered so much, so much that nothing frightened him anymore. He wondered if maybe Ryou had seen the massacre before, through Bakura’s memories from his time as the Spirit of the Ring, but...

“Hey, looks like something’s changing again,” Malik pointed out.

Bakura nodded, dismissed Diabound, and together the party gazed towards the swirling shapes and colours forming around them once more.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_Sorry for this crappy chapter. No matter what I did, I couldn't improve it._  
>  **

* * *

The next scene played to them was a little more bearable, but Bakura just wished they would end so he could go home already. Dare he say, he felt rather fragile now.

Bakhure was much older now, and striking out on his own. For several years he hid away from other people, huddling in the ruins of his village and only leaving when he became too hungry to fathom staying another moment. Gone was the laughing, smiling, playful young boy of Kul Elna. In his place stood a world-weary teenager, always looking over his shoulder, trusting nobody. The years of fighting to survive had left him thin and exhausted, but still he fought on, motivated by his hatred for the Pharaoh’s court and their grisly ornaments of death. Bakura had to hand it to himself – he’d done pretty well with nobody but his horse and a few ghosts for company.

“Where is this place?” Yugi asked, as they all looked around curiously.

Bakura let out a soft laugh. “You don’t recognise it?”

“O-Oh!” Yugi wound his arms round Atem's waist, as if hoping to protect him. "It's..." 

It was dark, but with their eyes now focusing, the image of a carved tablet came into view. It held indentations within its rough surface, but all were empty. Around the tablet, disembodied wisps swirled, their gentle whispers sending an unearthly chill through the very bones of the party…all except Bakura. He merely closed his eyes and drank in the lullabies of his childhood, the only communication he’d had with what remained of his family. In his current state, the sounds were a macabre comfort, but he couldn't help reaching out for Malik, much as Yugi had done for Atem, and burying his head in Malik's shoulder, only half-observing the sight before them all.

Bakhure sat cross-legged before the tablet, poking the tip of his tongue out as he dragged a whetstone over the edge of an elaborate dagger. A long scar stretched from his right eyebrow to his cheekbone, and his dry, cracked hands bore numerous criss-crossed scabs, cuts and grazes. He didn’t yet wear the expensive dyed robes that he had become known for, but a crudely sewn linen shirt and _shenti._ The gold bangle he wore as a child still fit on his slim wrist, and there it had remained. Ornate rings, set with jewels and faience, flashed on his fingers in the dim light provided by the tallow candles scattered around the tablet’s base.

Malik gave an appreciative wolf-whistle as he beheld the former self of his lover. “Well, colour me impressed, _habibi..._ you were beautiful."

“Implying I’m not right now?” Bakura snorted into Malik's shoulder.

“Don’t be stupid. But your mother was right. You were cute with a tan.”

Bakura gave Malik a shove, but it was playful more than anything. “Hush already. I’m trying to listen.”

As they watched, Bakhure raised his eyes towards the tablet, though his head stayed down as he continued to sharpen his dagger. “When Ra enters the _Duat,”_ he said, in a voice raspy and emotionless, “it will be time. The old Pharaoh won’t be needing his amenities anymore. I daresay his corpse will look delightful placed before the feet of his son.”

Atem held a hand over his eyes and sucked in a sharp breath. “I can’t…” he whispered. “I-I can’t…this is too hard…”

Bakura lifted his head to glare at Atem, feeling his teeth clench. “How do you think I felt?!” he snapped. “Not all of this is about you!”

“I…yes, I know. I’m sorry. It’s just…difficult, you know? When this is my father that’s – ”

A rumbling... _feeling..._ rather than a sound, began to reverberate around them, and Atem’s words became lost in the shocked gasp he uttered instead. Malik shivered and looped his arms around one of Bakura’s, drawing himself in close. “What the hell was that?” he asked.

No explanation was required, for the source of the sensation made itself known with a throaty, booming question.

 

**“Can I trust you to focus on the goal?”**

 

Bakhure grinned wickedly. “To be sure. This’ll be a distraction like no other. What better time to make off with the Items?”

Yugi let out a squeak. “Z-Z-Zorc!”

“Duh.” Bakura rolled his eyes. “Who else?”

 

**“Good. You know I would be most…displeased…if you betrayed me now, Bakhure.”**

 

Bakhure frowned down at his hands, then reached one of them up to scratch at the scar on his face. “If I do this, my people, my family…they can finally rest. There’s no reason for me to turn my back on you.”

 

**“Children are fickle things.”**

 

“I’m not a child anymore. My childhood was ripped from me the day the Pharaoh gave the order to burn us alive.” Bakhure laid his dagger aside, and turned his face to the ceiling, pale eyes wide and searching. “It’s a fucking resounding moment of failure on my part, for consorting with the monster of darkness himself, but...needs must, and it's a matter of who understands all this.”

 

**“Indeed. And who else _could_ understand?”**

 

The voice conjured up images of something slimy, foul, and dripping with poison. Though Bakura remembered it well, it still sent an unpleasant jolt down his spine.

 

**“Stay with me, Bakhure, and I will grant you the wishes you seek. You will be more powerful than you could ever imagine, and your people will enter _Aaru_ unburdened.”**

 

Bakhure nodded. “I promise. I won’t turn my back on you.”

 

**“Ever?”**

 

“…Yeah, guess I’ve got no choice.” The resignation in Bakhure’s tone made Bakura’s stomach threaten to empty itself.

The young thief pushed himself to his feet, and in the light of the candles, the thick scars around his wrists and ankles were thrown into relief – evidence that once upon a time, he hadn’t been so talented in his crimes. “I’m going to take a nap till it’s time to go,” he said. “Try not to destroy the world while I’m gone.”

The darkness chuckled, a deep rumble in the dark room.

 

**"Old habits die hard, hm? Fear not. I will wait for you.”**

 

Bakhure winked and shot a finger gun in the general direction of the voice before departing, the soft pads of his bare feet on cold stone a delicate whisper in the evil chill surrounding the room.

“Should we follow him?” Kek asked. He’d been relatively silent till now, no doubt out of embarrassment for all his tears earlier.

“I doubt you’ll see much besides me snoring,” Bakura shrugged.

“Well, I mean, if you drool as well, then I’ll have extra ammo to use against you later.”

“Fuck you, I don’t drool,” Bakura scowled. Malik raised an eyebrow at him, and he blushed violently. “Hey, whose side are you on here?!”

“The winning one, clearly.” Malik pecked Bakura’s cheek playfully. “Come on, _habibi._ I want to see if your sleeping habits have changed in 3,000 years.”

“I hate you all.” Nevertheless, Bakura shook Malik’s arms away and stormed off after his past self, leaving the rest to follow.

Much to Kek’s displeasure, Bakhure neither snored nor drooled. Rather, he curled onto his side upon an assortment of old rags and straw, and slept deeply, until the familiar wailings of the ghosts roused him at the perfect time. Bakura remembered that they always did become more active as the sun went down. _And I must have slept for hours by now. How has time gone by this fast? Surely my memories can’t be going through some weird fast-forward._

Bakhure scratched his head, yawned, and hopped up to smirk at the dying sunlight peering through the slim window set in the ruined wall of the house he once called home.

“Old man Akhenamkhanen…I daresay, I'm _dying_ to meet you!”


	26. Chapter 26

Something didn’t feel right...

Well, nothing had really felt right from the moment they’d entered the rift, but something about the air around them set Bakura’s teeth on edge, and it wasn’t the constant chill that had followed them from the room with the Millennium Tablet, all the way to Akhenamkhanen’s tomb and back. They'd watched as Bakhure flitted through the network of traps and false doors with all the casualness of a man going about his everyday life, but when it came to the burial chamber, Atem couldn't look on any further, and left quickly with Yugi at his heels. Bakura had stayed only long enough to remember the smug satisfaction at uncovering the old Pharaoh's mummified corpse before following them out, along with everyone else.

Now, after all that they had seen in his past, he was just plain fucking exhausted, wishing more than anything that he could put his head down and nap. As if to illustrate his point, he let out a loud yawn and rubbed his eyes. “I am so done with this.”

Kek shot him a scathing glare. “Hey, this is _your_ fucking soul we’re traipsing through the past for,” he spat, “so don’t even _start_ looking tired and complaining now.”

“Kek,” Ryou frowned, “we _have_ been going for a while. No wonder he’s tired. We all look like we could use a rest.” He wasn't lying; deep shadows blackened the skin beneath Ryou's eyes, his posture slumped, and the others didn't look much different.

“Is that going to be okay?” Malik asked.

“I don’t see why not. Nothing we’re doing is affecting our surroundings anyway,” Ryou replied. “All we can do is try! Yugi, will you help me with a few more spells, please?”

Yugi disentangled himself from a still visibly distressed Atem. "Yeah, sure thing."

Spouting internal gratitude, and determined to avoid the anguish on Atem's face, Bakura immediately sought shelter behind a jagged boulder sticking out of the sand. The night brought a bitterly cold wind with it, one that had him cursing his previous ability to bear the chill when all he wore were scraps of linen. Yugi and Ryou moved in a wide circle around the party, chanting in synchronicity and moving their bodies in a soothing sway as they worked their literal magic. The gentle hum of soft, holy protection emanated in the space, bathing them all in the same delicious tingles that Ryou had bestowed upon them before arriving. They felt nice, but Bakura barely noticed them as he buried his head in his knees and yawned once more.

_"Ezzayek ya gamila?"_

Bakura lifted his head a fraction to see Malik squatting down in front of him. The Egyptian looked pale and drawn, even without the moonlight shining on his skin. “Hm?” Bakura grunted.

“You don’t look well.”

“I’m fine, Ishtar.”

"Bakura, honey -"

“Don’t, Malik.”

“No, really, you look terrible.”

“Gee, thanks a bunch.”

“Well, didn’t you say that this place was likely to sap our strength?” Malik brushed the pads of his fingers over the minimal exposed skin of Bakura’s face, and Bakura closed his eyes, welcoming his lover's warmth. “Everyone but us two are well rested, but somehow they're all ready to drop any minute. I can definitely feel its effects…and you…”

Bakura slapped Malik’s hand away irritably. “Get to the point.”

_"Habibi,_  I can’t help but worry that the darkness is affecting you more than the rest of us. I’ve never seen you this pale before.”

“I said I’m fine," Bakura snapped. "Now will you let me rest a while?”

A defeated sigh huffed from Malik’s mouth, but he nodded. He shuffled closer to Bakura and nestled into his side, wrapping his arms loosely around his waist, and Bakura rolled his eyes, but leaned into the embrace nonetheless. Malik radiated a comforting warmth that soaked through the cold of Bakura’s skin and slowed the mad pounding of his heart.

“You’ve been so strong,” Malik whispered. “I was worried you wouldn’t get through this, but maybe it’s time I start backing off you a little. You’re standing on your own two feet so much better than when I arrived back in Domino." He kissed Bakura's cheek, nuzzling him afterwards. "I'm proud of you, Bakura.”

Bakura didn’t have the guts to tell Malik it had all mostly been down to him just _being_ there, whether or not he was backing off. Ryou and Kek, they’d always treated him like glass, but Malik…Malik had stormed back into his life like the melodramatic whirlwind he always was, and refused to label him as a lost cause, getting the former thief riled up the way he had been during Battle City, all those years ago. Only Malik could ever hope to bring such emotions out of Bakura, and in retrospect, that probably said a lot about how Bakura had felt towards Malik even when they were angry teenagers.

_I...lo..._

_No, I can't...I..._

The three damned, accursed, stupid words stuck heavily on Bakura’s tongue, refusing to budge. Dammit, he couldn’t say them. Things he grew attached to had a habit of being ripped away from him…it couldn’t happen again.

So Bakura just curled up beside Malik instead, and closed his eyes, succumbing to an uneasy sleep.

Sleep never came quickly to Bakura, unless copious amounts of booze were involved, but with Malik nestled into his side, it was a little easier. He still cursed that he’d drained what remained in his hipflask several hours ago, though, because his dreams were just as fucked up and annoying as his thoughts were during his times of wakefulness.

 

**“Do you feel yourself weakening, poor boy?”**

 

The voice wormed its way into the pitch-blackness of Bakura’s mind, snaking around, unwelcome, unwanted.

 

**“Will you return to the shadows, where you belong?”**

 

_“Go fuck yourself,”_ Bakura snapped. He wasn’t afraid of the demon that had once possessed him, dangled him like a puppet on strings to do his bidding. It would take more than disembodied voices to frighten him. _“Wasn’t it enough for you to string me along for 3,000 years, Zorc? We made a pretty good team, until you stabbed me in the fucking back, which, by the way, still smarts like hell.”_

Zorc’s pleased, rumbling growl made the very fabric of reality tremble.

 

**“I _am_ the darkness, after all. The fact that you were too stupid to see past your petty vengeance is proof enough that you only have yourself to blame. And yet…here you are, back where you started…”**

 

_“I don’t intend to stay any longer than necessary. I’m grabbing my soul and hightailing it the fuck outta here.”_

 

**“You think so?”**

 

_“That’s what I’m hoping for, yeah. You have no idea how behind on my work I am right now.”_

 

**“Bakhure, Bakhure, Bakhure…”**

 

If the voice had a face, Bakura could imagine it shaking its head now. Alas, all he continued to be aware of was the voice itself, and the pressing blackness from all directions.

 

**“Your friends dragged you out of my grasp once, but it will not happen again. When something is lost, something of equal value must be taken. You are still a stupid child, but your worth was noted, Bakhure. Therefore…”**

 

_“Yeah, yeah, “I’ll never leave here alive,” blah blah blah.”_

 

**“Quite. Glad you agree.”**

 

A violent roar made the hairs on the back of Bakura’s neck stand up and goosebumps prickle across his skin. He still couldn’t see Zorc, or figure out where his voice was coming from, but the feeling of impending tragedy pressed down on him ever urgently, and he felt his heart beginning to race once more with desperately withheld panic.

_I won’t be trapped again!_

_I refuse to die here!_

_I…_

_I..._

_I want to live!_

 

**"This is _my_ realm, boy. I can show you your memories...or I can twist your world into the most unimaginable pain. Now...suffer, the way you always should have!"**

 

_He's coming -!_

And that’s when everything went to hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_"Ezzayek ya gamila" is (hopefully) "are you okay, beautiful" in colloquial Arabic._ **


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_A warning here for mild descriptions of torture._ **

* * *

Bakura jerked back into consciousness.

_A dream?_ His heart hammered with a frantic fear as he scrabbled out for Malik, needing the closeness, the reassurance, his heat.

Instead, his fingers groped at empty air.

"M-Malik...?"

He was alone. Alone in the darkness.

No...

He wasn't alone.

As the black veil lifted, Bakura saw what lay around him. The ruined grounds of the royal palace, the air a thick clog of dust and smoke. It hurt to breathe, so he pulled the top of his hoodie up around his nose to protect himself. Trying his hardest not to hyperventilate, his eyes roved the ground, searching, wondering...

A shiny, black, clawed pair of feet greeted his field of vision, and his heart ceased its mad pounding, instead to sink like stone to the pit of his stomach. He sighed and pushed himself to his feet. "Haven't you heard the phrase, "let sleeping dogs lie?" I was rather enjoying my nap until you came along."

An amused growl rumbled in the air above him.  **"Ah, Bakhure...by the time we are done here, you will be begging for sleep again."**

"Eternal sleep, I take it."

**"You know me too well."**

"Ain't that a sad fact of life."

Zorc simply _towered._ There was no other description good enough for the demon of darkness. His sharp white teeth and blood-red eyes flashed and glowed in the gloom, every bit as terrifying as Bakura remembered. Every inch of Zorc's body rippled with hard muscle and skin black as the deepest night, yet not one one bit of him sank into the shadows - in his might, it was impossible to miss him.

As Bakura glared at him, his shape began to change; he shrank down rapidly, his body darkening further and becoming incorporeal, a wavering ghost of sorts. Within moments, he resembled a shadow, only he was standing tall on two feet, and looking highly amused, and looking like a deranged version of Bakura himself.

Zorc's new appearance started up the desperate thud of Bakura's heart, his outward appearance still and calm. The scarlet eyes burning into his gaze scorched their realisation into him - _My mother's eyes. This whole time...I didn't see it before..._

"Where are my - ...where are the others?" Bakura demanded. 

Zorc grinned widely. **"Oh, they're here. They're just...locked away for now. They won't be bothering us."**

He lifted a hand then, and Bakura gasped as his arms shot out either side of his body, strung up by some invisible force. A moment later, his legs snapped together, as if he had been nailed to a crucifix. He strained and struggled, but it was useless, and he quickly submitted with a groan. "Haven't you had enough fun torturing me over the years?" he muttered.

**"That's a stupid question, don't you think?"**

Zorc snapped his fingers, and Bakura screamed. Searing hot agony burned through his body, filthy fingers of hell twisting around his organs and squeezing until he thought he might die from the shock alone. Then the pain was gone...Bakura slumped down, panting, feeling sweat trickling down his face. "D-Dammit."

**"Did that hurt?"** Zorc asked. **"I'm sorry if it wasn't enough. Let's try again, shall we?"**

The next wave was expected, but no less torturous. Bakura gritted his teeth and breathed heavily, trying not to make a sound, but it was too much, and his deep growls soon heightened into muffled shrieks as he pressed his lips together and tried his fucking hardest not to give Zorc any satisfaction.

He reached for his _heka,_ to bring him forth, yet it was fruitless, the spark dying as quickly as it flared into being. _Diabound...fuck, I can't focus enough to summon him..._

Zorc kept up the agony for a little longer this time, and gave Bakura a few moments' reprieve before assaulting him once more. Blood flowed down Bakura's chin from where he had bitten his lip in an attempt to staunch his screams, his clothes soaked through from sweat. Every breath became a struggle, his chest and throat burned, and bright lights flashed before his eyes.

The demon stepped closer, a smug smile twisting his dark lips. A shadowy finger traced down Bakura's cheek, wiping away the involuntary tear dampening his skin. He licked his finger, and Bakura gagged at the gesture, the agony.  **"When you pledged your life to me, you promised your soul, too. Every part of you belongs to me, and me alone. It isn’t nice to break promises, Bakhure.”**

Bakura shuddered, but his face remained slack and expressionless. “Fuck…you.”

**“Let’s play a little longer. It has been lonely here without your screams.”**

It felt as though the pain was getting easier to manage now, but Bakura suspected it was because with every searing wave, he dropped closer and closer to unconsciousness, drifting in and out of his surroundings. His efforts to summon Diabound fell flat on their proverbial faces, and bit by bit, he felt his remaining energy draining into the darkness. Zorc drank it in, laughing madly throughout his “game.”

 

_I’m..._

_I'm done for…_

_There’s no way I can fight back._

_Fuck!_

_Where are the others? I can’t believe I’m even wondering if Atem is okay._

_I can’t…I can’t stay…awake any…_

_Dammit…_

 

Death was a hell of a lot more painful this time round, it would seem.

How fucking annoying…he hadn’t even been able to put up a good struggle.

 

_You guys…please be safe…_

_..._

_..._

_...Malik..._

_I..._

_..._

_..._

_..._

_..._

 

“I don’t fucking think so!”

The loud shout broke the trance, shattered the darkness. Then the roar...pure light flooded Bakura’s senses as Zorc screamed in fury. The invisible bindings fell away, and Bakura dropped to the ground like a rag doll, He groaned, barely able to move for the spasms and twitches of his muscles.

“Bakura! Are you okay?”

The scents of aromatic rosemary and soft lavender surrounded him, and he knew it was Malik, but his words couldn't come, only his hand shaking perilously as it managed to weakly grip onto the first area of flesh he could find. A moment later, he was lifted clear off the ground and settled into arms far too bulky and muscled to be Malik’s. He punched weakly at Kek’s chest. “Get the fuck off me.”

“Can’t you be grateful for once in your fucking life?” Kek snapped.

“Zorc, he…”

“We know. Ryou and the other two dorks have it all under control.”

Bakura peered over Kek’s shoulder, and his mouth dropped.

"Fuck...me..."

Zorc, reduced to the mere shadow he deserved to be, surrounded, beaten down relentlessly by a storm of ice and fire; Yugi and Atem commanded the elements as if they were their own bodies. Overhead, lightning cracked the sky as its serpentine master twisted through the air, scarlet scales flashing and two gigantic maws screaming.

_God dammit, Atem, one-up us all, why don't you. Arrogant prick._

But Ryou…Ryou practically _glowed,_ such was the power of the holy magic radiating from him. The range of the spell covered them all, keeping them protected and restoring their energy.

“Holy fuck, Ryou,” Bakura breathed. He felt the pure brilliant sinking into him, rejuvenating every cell in his body, as though he hadn't been tortured at all, and sighed in relief and pleasure.

“Isn’t he amazing?” Kek grinned. He set Bakura down once they had covered some distance, and flexed his arms. “Stay here, alright? How the fuck you endured that long, I have no idea, but I have to admit I’m impressed.” He ruffled Bakura’s hair, much to Bakura’s displeasure, then ran off to help the party.

Bakura looked up at Malik, standing over him protectively. His face bore the marks of someone who had been fighting just as much as Bakura had been, though he seemed otherwise unharmed. “How did you see what was going on?” Bakura croaked.

“Zorc shut us out, but we could still hear and see you,” Malik murmured. “He sent his demons after us, and if it weren’t for Atem reawakening his magic and summoning Osiris to break us out, we’d all be dead."

Bakura couldn’t even be pissed that Atem had saved him. He closed his eyes and felt out for Diabound, and thanks to Ryou’s magic, mustered enough power to summon him once more. “Go,” he said quietly to the _ka._ “Help them.”

Diabound nodded, and soared into battle with a spiral of destructive _heka._

Zorc looked furious at the appearance of the party and Diabound, and fought back at their efforts with venomous vigour.  **"You think your pathetic _ka_ will be enough to defeat me?"** Zorc cackled. **"You never learn, boy!"** He sent a burst of crackling, dark energy at Diabound, and Bakura tensed, knowing Diabound couldn't dodge in time - but the energy bounced off the protective barrier Kek threw up in front of him. Zorc snarled with anger. **"You!"** he hissed at Kek. **"You, who are darkness itself. Why do you fight me?"**

Kek drew himself up tall and fierce. "Because," he replied, "the darkness gave me no reason to live. It never gave anyone a reason to live!" He flung an arm out towards where Ryou stood, eyes closed and hands pressed together in a silent prayer of protection. "Light, love, safety, reality...the things I never had, he gave to me! The world gave to me!"

"Oh, Kek..." Malik whispered, tears in his eyes as he sank to his knees beside Bakura.

"You don't scare me, Zorc!" Kek screamed. "You don't scare any of us! I won't let you take any of my friends ever again!"

"You tell him, Kek!" Yugi cheered over Osiris' deathly roar. A moment later a sharp blast of lightning from his maw smote Zorc's shadowy body, causing him to stumble and growl. Yugi slapped Atem a high-five. "We can do this, guys!"

"Confident, _aibou,"_ Atem grinned.

Bakura shook his head at the dorks who had become his friends.  _What the fuck did I ever do to get stuck with you lot?_ Nevertheless, he couldn't help smiling, and as he looked down at his hands, to the gold band on his finger, his stomach gave a little flip, the final, perfect piece to the jumbled-up and haphazard road to recovery they'd sent him on. He reached for Malik's hand and twined their fingers together, bringing them to his lips so he could nuzzle the warm skin. "Thank you," he whispered.

"What for?" Malik asked, stroking Bakura's hair with his free hand.

"Everything, you prat."

Malik smiled. "What are friends for, hm?"

The battle wore on, seemingly endless. Ryou had done his best with his rejuvenating spells, but the fog of exhaustion hung heavy over them all, worn down from the fighting and the draining of their energy from simply being in the shadows themselves. Zorc gained the upper hand and managed to send Atem and Yugi flying with a well-timed burst of dark magic. Dazed, they hit the ground with a harsh _thud,_ and Atem gave a sharp cry along with the resounding _crack_ of bones breaking. Osiris vanished a moment later.

The distraction broke Ryou’s concentration, and their protective barrier fell. In an instant, Zorc surrounded them with choking shadow, sapping the very strength and willpower from the party. Malik shivered violently and clung to Bakura, breathing heavily. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he whispered, “what are we going to do?”

**“Do?”** Zorc asked. He cackled with glee. **“There’s nothing you _can_ do. I am the master of this realm, and I will claim the souls of those who took Bakhure from me.”**

“No!” Kek shouted.

“We won’t let you win, foul darkness!” Atem said, cradling his shattered wrist close to his chest with his free hand.

**“Oh, Pharaoh. I won the moment you all stepped into the rift.”**

The darkness pressed ever closer...closer...

**“Now, die.”**

Ryou turned, looking back at Bakura and Malik. For the first time, Bakura saw just how ethereal and angelic Ryou looked, even as death threatened to overcome them. He had always been beautiful, but seeing him now almost took Bakura’s breath away.

“It’s going to be okay,” Ryou smiled. “Just hold on tight, Bakura.”

“What in the fucking hell makes you think this is going to be okay?!” Bakura screamed.

“Trust me!”

Ryou snapped his fingers, and his magic exploded into being again, bathing them all in holy light much more intense than before. He chanted under his breath at rapid-fire speed, and as  _heka_ flared around them, and Bakura felt the pull on his body, suddenly he understood. “No!” he shouted, lunging forward, but his legs buckled and he dropped to his knees. “Ryou, no!”

“It’s okay!” Ryou repeated.

“Ryou, what - ?” Kek gasped.

Ryou glanced back at Malik. “Look after him, won’t you?”

“Honey, don’t you dare!” Malik cried.

“I’ve got this! You just focus on yourselves right now.”

The blinding light was the last thing any of them saw before they were flung into Ryou’s living room, the rift closing behind them.

Ryou wasn’t with them. He’d remained behind, and all that was left of him were Kek’s agonised screams for his beloved.


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_A warning here for blood, dissociation and self-mutilation._ **

* * *

_Ryou…_

Bakura slammed his head against the plush carpet, completely numb. How could this have happened? This was quite possibly the worst outcome he could have envisaged. His best friend, sacrificing himself to save them all, cutting off the only means of getting back inside.

“Ryou!” Kek kept wailing, as if he hoped Ryou could hear him in the next world. The huge brute looked so out of place screaming like his heart was being ripped out, but his pain was so evidently profound, nobody would have dared speak up; indeed, they felt his grief as though it were their own hearts in agony. “Ryou! Open the fucking rift! Open it! Now! _Ryou! Where are you?!”_

Yugi's face blanched chalk-white as he knelt on the floor, wiping tears from his cheeks. “I can’t believe he did this…”

“I didn’t know he was capable of such magic,” Atem murmured.

Bakura couldn’t look at them. His whole being had flatlined into sheer nothingness, as if he’d downed an entire bottle of vodka and was waiting for the inevitable peace to overcome him. He was aware of Malik sobbing beside him, but he hadn’t anything in him to comfort him.

_This isn’t right…this isn’t right! Ryou! You fucking idiot!_

A sudden manic urge to _move_ possessed him, and he pushed himself to his feet, starting to pace the room. “We need to get back in,” he muttered. “We need to get back in, but how?”

 _“Habibi?”_ Malik whispered, his eyes huge and sparkling with tears.

Bakura continued to mutter to himself, “Yes, yes, but how? None of us have magic like that…no, so we can’t…"

"Bakura, calm down -" Atem cut in, but Bakura dismissed him with an irritable wave of his hand.

"We can’t…I…but…”

The mania left as quickly as it had come, and Bakura stood in the centre of the room, wondering what had come over him. The full reality of the situation smacked him full in the face, and in an instant Bakura’s delicate state of mind fought to detach itself, refusing to accept the loss of his friend, the loss of what pitiable shred of humanity remained to him.

_We can’t do anything. I have to…I…this isn’t happening. This isn’t happening. This. Isn’t. Happening._

He could hear voices calling for him, calling for him to return, but it was futile; his mind floated clear out of his body, and Bakura had no idea where he was, who he was, what was occurring around him. Reality ceased to exist, and in those blissful moments, Bakura knew he could rest a little, recuperate. Surely Ryou would come strolling in any moment now, laughing and smiling like always, and making tea and coffee for everyone. He had to. That was what he _did._ That was Ryou.

Darkness invited him into its embrace once more, the smoking ruins boxing him in. Here the monster stood, the demon that had taken away all that he once held dear.

_I've found you._

Zorc…Bakura could see him now, standing there with that smug fucking smirk as he commanded his shadows to do his bidding. He still assumed Bakura’s form, and the very sight sickened Bakura to his stomach. He’d had too much stolen from him in his life to tolerate the god of darkness taking his identity too.

A knife appeared in his hand, and he raised it to Zorc’s face, preparing to cut him deep, the same pain he had inflicted upon Bakura for millennia. Zorc didn't move...just watched him, watched him, watched him...

“Suffer!"

The first cut split the blackened, shadowy skin.

"Bleed!"

Hot spurts ran down his face.

"Die!”

_Yes, you will die...you will die for what you have done to us all!_

 

**_“Don’t do this, Bakura!”_   **

 

The stammering cry rang out in the distance. Who in their right mind would stop him now?

“I’m going to kill him!” Bakura barked.

 

**_“No! I know you're scared, but you won't bring Ryou back this way! Bakura, please…don’t do this.”_ **

 

The look of agony on Zorc’s face was a wonder to behold as gleaming blood poured down his skin, the soft pitter-patter of droplets splashing onto the floor satisfaction like no other. “I’ve got to,” Bakura said quietly. “You can’t stop me.”

 

**_“Please come out. Please. Let’s talk about this.”_ **

 

“I can’t.”

Someone was crying. It wasn’t enough to deter Bakura from mutilating Zorc until he was soaked in his own ghastly blood.

 

**_“Bakura, baby…please."_ **

 

Bakura gasped. Stabbing pain flooded his mind and he found it hard to breathe, the air catching in his chest. His own face stared back at him in the tiny mirror sat on the bathroom sink, eyes wide and fearful, one side of his face and his hair covered with blood, a sickly contrast to his deathly pale skin.

_What the fuck?_

He’d dissociated to the point of completely losing control over himself. Seeing himself as Zorc, he’d inflicted the wounds that he himself had endured as a young man. Reality returned like dead weight, and when Bakura next spoke, he couldn’t hide the terror in his voice.

“Ryou is gone because of me!” he screamed.

"This wasn't your fault!" Malik shouted. Bakura realised he was in his own bathroom, with one of his kitchen knives in his hand, steadily dripping blood onto the floor and over his feet. Malik was behind the door, which Bakura assumed he must have locked in his manic state.

"If we hadn't gone on this damn stupid fucking fetch quest, this never would have happened!”

What fucking good had it been to prance into the shadows for a soul that deserved no redemption? Was this their punishment?

"We knew there would be danger when we stepped in there, Bakura. We all accepted that." Malik was clearly trying to speak calmly, but his voice hitched and shook with every sob he choked down. "Ryou sacrificed himself so that we could be safe. Don't let that be in vain. We need to regroup and get back in there, so we can kick the ass of the son of a bitch that forced Ryou's hand, but we can't do it without you and Diabound."

Bakura shook his head, unable to tear his gaze away from the ruined side of his face in the mirror. _I fucked up big time here._

 _"Ya hayati..._ I love you. Come out...please. We can't lose you too."

_Malik, I…I…_

_Oh, gods._

_We can’t leave him in there!_

_What am I_ doing _to myself?!_

Bakura’s hand shook violently, but he gathered his strength and tossed the bloody knife aside, before flicking the lock on the door and throwing it open. Malik gasped, gazing up at him from his prostrated position on the carpet. One look at the blood coating Bakura’s face and hair, and Malik broke down completely, clutching the leg of Bakura’s jeans and sobbing like his heart was breaking under the strain.

"You idiot," Malik choked out, "you damn fucking idiot! You scared me so much!"

Malik’s tears were the last ingredient needed to break Bakura out of his fugue. Fully himself, he dropped down onto one knee and swept Malik up into his arms in a trembling embrace.

Malik’s heart was breaking, and so was Bakura’s, but dimly, he registered the words Malik had spoken, the words Bakura himself had been too frightened to accept…the magic Bakura had craved for so long, knowing it wouldn’t make him better, but he needed it all the same. And Malik gave, and gave, and gave, unconditionally and with pure passion, with gold rings and soft kisses and promises that he’d be there, always.

_But why?_

_Because…we’re in…_

The former thief sobbed into Malik’s hair, staining the pristine blonde with his blood and tears. "What have you done to me? I was never this soft until I met you. Dammit, Ishtar, I really do hate you."

Malik let out a shaky laugh as he tightened his hold on Bakura, nestling into him. “Ah, there you are, _habibi._ I knew you were in there somewhere."

"Shut up."

Malik touched a patch of unbroken skin beside the deep slashes on Bakura's cheek. "This needs fixing up."

“Bigger things to worry about right now," Bakura muttered, shaking his head. "Where are the others?”

“Still at Ryou and Kek’s. Kek is in absolute hysterics, so I hope he hasn’t murdered Yugi or Atem by the time we get back.” Malik drew away and wiped his puffy, red eyes. “You bolted, Kura. You had this odd manic moment, then just shut down and bolted out of the house. I was so worried you were going to get hit by a car or something, so I had to run after you.”

“Ended up slicing my face instead,” Bakura remarked, poking at the wounds and wincing.

“Well, you’re still alive. And so is Ryou. He won’t be beaten that easily, but he’s going to need our help.”

“But how?”

“The way we always solved our problems,” a cheerful voice rang out, “with good old-fashioned shadow magic.”

Yugi strolled in, looking a little shaken up but otherwise okay. Kek trailed behind, clutching Yugi’s hand, eyes swollen and red-rimmed from crying even as more tears cascaded down his cheeks. Atem brought up the rear, his broken wrist strapped up and supported with whatever they had managed to find in the house.

Yugi took one look at Bakura and screamed. “Holy fuck, Bakura! What happened to you?!”

“Forget about that,” Bakura snapped, still holding Malik close, “what are you morons doing here?”

Kek held up what appeared to be Malik’s car keys. “Yugi drove us,” he murmured.

“Do you even _know_ how to drive?” Malik asked, incredulous.

Yugi laughed nervously. “I’ve not passed my test yet.”

“Dear god, Yugi, you could have killed all three of you!”

“I know, I know, but we needed to get to you. Listen…” Yugi gently prised Kek’s fingers away from his hand and knelt to Malik and Bakura’s level. “None of us are in any state to go back in there, and we don’t know how to open the rift again. We’re just going to have to trust Ryou on this one; I don’t think he would have tossed us out if he didn’t feel capable of handling this on his own.”

“Are you crazy?” Bakura screamed.

“No, listen,” Atem piped up. “Ryou has overpowered Zorc before, remember?”

 _Of course…_ Bakura cast his mind back to their teenage years, when he had still possessed Ryou’s body. _Monster World…_

Ryou had fought, and fought, and fought, wresting control of a single hand from Bakura's parasitic embrace, fumbling the dice, manifesting himself within the game, and sacrificing his very life force to save his friends. Bakura had never thought of his meek host as being anything other than a powerless little boy until that day...the day he accepted Ryou as someone worthy of his attention.

True, Ryou was incredibly strong…but could he handle this? Could he handle the master of darkness once again?

"I found a spell in one of Ryou's books," Atem offered. "We might not be able to open and reenter the rift, but we can lend him our strength and support. If he's fighting the darkness itself in there, he's going to need it."

Bakura could have kissed Atem at that moment, but instead he settled for a stiff nod, the most amicable he could manage.

“Are you absolutely sure?” Malik asked quietly. His eyes flicked over to Kek. _“Akhun?_ Are you okay with this?”

Kek's bottom lip quivered, but he nodded. “Not much else we can do,” he said, his voice hollow.


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_We're so very close to the end! Thank you all for sticking with me this far. I couldn't have done this without your support. Oh, and I'll let you in on a little secret - in the first draft, this ended with a chess game between Ryou and Zorc, and it was a hilarious thought, but in the end I decided it wouldn't work out as I wanted it to._ **
> 
> **_Art for this chapter kindly provided by the amazing Shadow-chan!_ **

* * *

The image of Kek's agony burned itself into Ryou's eyes, a sickening guilt he knew he would never forgive himself for. _I'm so sorry, everyone...I couldn't...there was no other way to save you!_

He sniffed and held back a sob, refusing to let his tears show in front of Zorc. Drawing himself up to his full height, he tossed his hair back and rearranged his features to smile sweetly at the demon. "Now...where were we?"

Zorc's shadowy visage frowned.  **"You would sacrifice yourself? For what? Your own selfish desire to be the hero for once?"**

"Sounds appealing, but no." Ryou shook his head as if to emphasise his point. "I'm no hero, Zorc, but I love my friends, and I would die for them willingly if need be."

**"Humans say many things. Doing them is another matter entirely."**

Ryou's smile became wry and cunning. "I gave my life once before to bring you down...yet I'm still here now, am I not?" 

**"Truly, you were not one to be underestimated."**

"I'm so pleased to hear you say that."

**"Indeed. But I'm afraid your little act of bravery came too late."** Zorc extended a hand towards Ryou, dark magic crackling at his fingertips.  **"You will die here, alone, without your loved ones to comfort you in your last moments. Bakhure's soul is mine. I have no intention of releasing it to you."**

The magic exploded outwards then. Ryou chanted a rapid-fire warding spell under his breath, knowing it would not be enough in his exhausted state, but he crossed his fingers and prayed to his dice for luck. The barrier crumbled the instant Zorc's darkness touched it, and slammed Ryou to the ground, though he was thankfully otherwise unharmed by its effects. _Phew...that was a close one._

Ryou released his crossed fingers to snap them, white tendrils of holy binding sprouting from the ground like vines to wrap around Zorc's legs, before he rolled away quickly from another burst of dark magic. "You've grown slow, Zorc!" he taunted.

**"And you have grown too confident for your own good!"** Zorc threw himself at Ryou, forcing him back to the ground before he could right himself. Weak, tired, and unhelpful at most in a physical fight, Ryou grabbed at Zorc's arms, trying to push him off with more magic, struggling his body left and right in an attempt to wriggle out from underneath him.  **"No,"** Zorc snarled, unperturbed,  **"you will not escape me now, boy."**

Then his hand wrapped around Ryou's throat, and squeezed.

Air froze in Ryou's lungs...froze, before flashing searing hot, unable to escape, unable to move. Ryou thrashed, sucking in harsh gasps that went nowhere. With no means to chant his spells, he was powerless. Coherent thought faded into a dull haze, a fog clouding his mind deeper and deeper with every passing moment that Zorc choked the very life from him.

_I...can't...die like this!_

_Dammit! Move, Ryou! Move! Do...something..._

His eyes rolled back, fire scorching his chest, needles piercing his throat. Zorc rumbled a deep chuckle as he leaned down, bringing his gruesome, stolen face down to within an inch of Ryou's. 

**"I win."**

No retort formed in Ryou's mind, too heavy, too dark...consuming him...his  _ba_ slipping away into the black...

 

_Ryou! Can you hear us?_

 

Zorc's head snapped up.  **"That damn Pharaoh?"** he growled.

 

_We're right here with you! You're not fighting alone!_

 

Ryou's eyes snapped open.  _Yugi...? Is that...you?_

 

_You can do this, honey! We all have faith in you!_

 

_Malik...!_

 

_We're sending you all our strength, okay? I'm disowning you if you go down in there without a good fucking fight!_

 

_B-Bakura..._

 

_Snowflake!_

 

_Kek!_

 

_Use your power! I know you can do this! You're too strong to let it end like this!_

 

_But...I don't...Kek...what do I...?_

 

_Awaken the power in your soul, before it flees you for good! Now! You have to do it now! Your_ ka!  _Now, snowflake! **Now!**_

 

**"I will not _let_ you!"**  Zorc lifted Ryou up by the throat and smashed his head back to the ground.

The screams of his friends, the ones who encompassed all his world had become, breathed life anew into Ryou's dying body. A surge of energy snapped his arms up straight, palms pressing against Zorc's chest. He could barely see for the blood and fog clouding his eyes, but the power...oh, he could feel the power now...his friends were still here with him...he wasn't alone in this...Light rippled between their heaving bodies, spreading outwards, a chill wind engulfing them. 

**"What - ?!"**

And Ryou drew a burning breath, and screamed.

_"Kyukon! Come to me!"_

Over the screech of the wind, a howl sounded, terrifying and comforting and awe-inspiring all at the same time, and Ryou could  _breathe_ again, scrabbling onto hands and knees as he coughed and spluttered, remembering again how to draw air in and out...in and out...in and out...

**"This...no...!"** Zorc snarled over the din. Knocked backwards, surrounded by a blazing wall of holy light - no, but that was -? A tail...or more?

Ryou smiled at the manifestation of his soul. "Hi there."

Kyukon, the name having come to Ryou as naturally as blinking, turned its head towards Ryou, gazing at him through icy blue eyes. Its nine snow-white tails swished as it gambolled in wide circles around Zorc, sending arcing beams of light to form the ethereal cage binding Zorc's power. Though no words were spoken between them, Ryou felt the acknowledgement, the rush of love and bonding. Ryou breathed a soft sigh of relief. "Thank you."

The kitsune gave a low growl and tossed its head back to howl at the blood-red sky. The drain on Ryou's  _ba_ felt like only a mild tickle, as opposed to the dramatic pull he had feared. No, he would survive this. He'd walk away from the darkness alive.

_I'm coming home._

As the holy light began to fade, Kyukon growled in Zorc’s face, ghostly spittle flying from its mouth and dripping down sharp fangs.

**“Fine. It seems you have bested me, for now,”** Zorc muttered. **“You may take Bakhure away. But know that you will never truly overpower me. I am the darkness itself. I cannot be banished.”**

Ryou nodded sternly. “I know.”

**“Go now. Get out of my damn sight, repulsive creature.”**

_That’s a bit rich, coming from you!_ Ryou thought, but before he could verbally respond, Zorc vanished, the darkness around him swirling into something a little brighter, mixing with the fading holy whisperings from Kyukon's body. The kitsune's ears flattened and it snapped at the forming shapes warily. Ryou reached out a hand to his  _ka,_ and it slunk over to him, pressing its nose into his palm as the last of Zorc's energy disssipated and the swirling darkness overcame everything once more...

Rasping, laboured breathing echoed in the chamber... _wait, the chamber?_

Ryou realised with a jolt that he was back in the room with the Millennium Tablet. Those breaths weren’t his own, however. As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he located the source, and a soft gasp escaped his lips.

_I’ve found you at last._

Bakhure, King of Thieves, coughed violently, splattering blood across the Tablet and the Items placed within. His hands scrabbled round frantically, trying in vain to fit the tines of the Ring into the indentations, but he shook so hard he couldn’t do more than swipe them left and right repeatedly. It was clear he was gravely injured. They didn’t have much time. Ryou cleared the room in several long strides and hopped up onto the Tablet, cupping Bakhure’s face in his hands. “It’s okay,” he whispered in breathless Middle Egyptian. “It’s okay. I’ve got you. Everything is going to be alright.”

Bakhure’s opalescent eyes widened at the sight of Ryou, chest rising and falling with pained shudders. “Who… _are_ you?”

“My name is Ryou. I’m here to take you home.”

“H-Home?”

“That’s right.”

“I…” Bakhure coughed again, sending a spray of blood across Ryou’s shirt. “I don’t…I can’t…my people, I…”

“It’s okay,” Ryou repeated. “They’re at peace now. You can let go.”

Bakhure bit his lip, eyes filling with tears. “Are you an angel?”

“Do you want me to be?”

“I think I…I would like that.”

Ryou smiled gently. “Then I am your angel, Bakhure. Come now…it’s time to go home.”

He gathered Bakhure in his arms and stroked his hair, listening to the quiet sobs intermixed with choking exhales of breath. His shoulder soon soaked through with blood, but still Ryou held him, held him until he felt Bakhure’s breathing begin to slow, becoming fainter.

“Don’t be afraid,” Ryou whispered, and he felt Bakhure nod. Kyukon, walking in slow circles around them, stopped a moment to lick Bakhure's cheek. The thief gasped, closing his eyes; he smiled as his arms curled loosely around Ryou’s waist and he drew himself closer with the very last of his strength.

“Thank you…”

He fell limp against Ryou, and a moment later, when Kyukon howled, Ryou knew he was gone. Choking on his own sobs, he activated his _heka,_ hastily drawing the remaining life force from Bakhure’s body and transferring it to his own. Having once played host to another being that wasn’t himself, Ryou instinctively knew where to funnel the energy; to what was left of his soul room, abandoned and empty since Bakura had left it vacant so many years ago. There he would keep Bakhure's being safe until he could transfer it back to its rightful owner.

As he funnelled Bakhure’s life force, the King's body began to fade, with nothing tangible left inside to keep it in existence. It was a bittersweet realisation that someone had had to die again in order for Bakura to live…was this still in the past, or had Zorc fashioned this scene himself? Ryou wiped away a tear from his cheek and harvested the last of Bakhure’s spirit; with that, the body vanished into the shadows that had held him so cruelly.

_It’s done._

Ryou sat back on his heels and sighed heavily, wiping his bloodstained hands on his now rather ruined shirt. Kyukon sidled up to him and stuck its nose in his ear again, prompting him to smile through his tears. “I know,” Ryou murmured. “I know, you’re trying to cheer me up. I’m sad, but I’m happy, too. Bakura is going to be okay. We did it."

**_Artwork by Shadow-chan93._ **


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **  
> _And we have reached the end! Well, there will be an epilogue following this, which wasn't strictly part of the original story - sorry Big Bang admins, I gone and done a goof. I love this chapter, but it doesn't feel an appropriate finishing point, so stay tuned for the epilogue from tomorrow, and here you can enjoy a new POV._  
>  **

* * *

“A little longer, I think.”

“Yes…until Ryou returns.”

“He’s taking his sweet time about it.”

“So impatient, my dear Meryt!”

“Of course, Lady Ishtar! The boy’s carrying half my son’s soul! I should hope he would hurry up with it.”

Maryam gave a titter of polite, amused laughter as she adjusted her hijab. “I believe he will arrive soon. I had faith in him the whole time.”

“As did these silly excuses for heroes,” Meryt grinned, “though I can’t fault their antics, not really. I’m proud of them all.”

Maryam linked an arm with Meryt and rested their heads together. “They did well.”

“That they did.”

The five young men in Ryou’s living room had fallen into exhausted, fitful slumber, only half-reassured by the knowledge that Ryou was safe. Indeed, it appeared only Yugi slept with any degree of confidence in his friend, as was evident by the soft smile on his face as he nestled his head into the pillow he’d made from his jacket. Atem had taken the armchair, to better support his injured wrist, and Bakura sprawled out, prone and still, across the sofa; Malik slept with his head on his knees, back supported by the bottom of the sofa, and Kek uttered the occasional sob or whimper, curled up beside his brother with a pillow clutched to his chest.

Maryam sighed sadly, wishing she could comfort him, comfort them all. She murmured a gentle Arabic prayer under her breath, more for her own calming than anything else – she hadn’t always been a tomb keeper, and remembered the _adhan, takvir, shahada;_ the faith that remained close to her heart even after marrying into the Ishtar family and swearing her loyalty to the memories of the Pharaoh. Meryt patted Maryam’s shoulder gently, as if sensing her pain.

A moment later, Meryt’s lips turned up into a wry smile. “Something is changing in the air, my lady.”

“Ah…” Maryam raised her head from her friend’s shoulder. “Your perception of _heka_ is remarkable…I didn’t notice a thing.”

“Look, just there.” Meryt pointed to the television set, and indeed, the air in front of it had begun to shimmer and waver with tendrils of shadow.

“Shall I get - ?”

“No…wait to see if he is well first.”

_“Na'am, tamam..._ okay." 

“Maryam, you know I don’t understand a word of your lovely Arab conqueror’s tongue.”

Maryam laughed lightly. “Then I suppose it is fortunate that I became fluent in your ancient tongue long ago.”

“Fortunate indeed. But hush now…he comes.” Meryt drew Maryam closer again, eyes trained firmly on the forming rift.

A flash of light and a _whoosh_ followed Meryt’s words, and for one small, tangible second, the swirling blackness coalesced, allowing its traveller to tumble through, back into his home, before fading away. Ryou’s clothes were speckled with blood, his hair in disarray and throat bruised, but he appeared otherwise unharmed. He seemed to hover in the air for a brief moment, held aloft by the fading power of the rift, and then he dropped to his knees, panting.

The thud of Ryou’s body hitting the carpet roused the party, and in an instant, he was surrounded. Kek sobbed loudly and unashamedly as he hugged Ryou to his chest, a tender gesture that had Maryam dabbing at her eyes with a watery smile. Malik kissed Ryou’s cheeks once Kek released him, and Atem patted Ryou’s shoulder while Yugi gave him a wink and a double thumbs-up.

Meryt glanced down at Maryam. “Go now.”

“I’ll be right back.” Maryam turned away and faded from sight.

Then that just left Bakura. He had remained on the outside of the throng of embracing bodies, a nervous, almost endearing expression clouding his face as he scratched at the ugly, scabbing wound under his eye. The crowd parted, and Ryou tilted his head to the side as he beheld Bakura.

“So…?” Bakura chanced.

Ryou giggled. “So?”

“Don’t be a dick, _yadonushi._ What happened in there? We only felt a little, and then we were cut off from you completely after your _ka_ came out.”

The happy expression on Ryou’s face dropped a little, more sombre now. “We’ll discuss that later, okay? There’ll be a better time to talk about it.” His eyes sparkled as he held out his hands. “For now, though…I have a present for you, if you’ll be so good as to hold my hands.”

“Do I have to?”

“I suppose I could keep this part of you – ”

“Fuck that, gimme.” Bakura scrabbled into the centre of the crowd and grabbed Ryou’s hands tightly.

Meryt leaned against the doorway and folded her arms, watching the transfer of her son’s fragmented soul with a deep satisfaction thrumming in her heart, to match the warm vibrations in the air as the ritual took place. Ryou had his eyes closed, but Bakura couldn’t tear his own away from Ryou, his body giving the occasional shiver, though he never once pulled his hands away. The others observed, transfixed, silent.

“…Is he here? Is he okay?” The timid voice spoke from somewhere near Meryt’s elbow, and she glanced down and grinned widely at the small, icy-haired girl staring up at her. Wordlessly, she pointed to the source of the action, and Amane giggled. “I knew he would be. That’s my big brother.”

“He’s remarkable,” Meryt agreed. Maryam appeared on her other side a moment later, accompanied by a willowy woman with the same starlight hair as her children. She looked positively terrified as Amane took her hand reassuringly. “It’s alright, Jenny,” Meryt murmured. “Ryou made it back safe and well.”

Jenny’s face flushed with relief, crystalline tears filling her eyes. “Oh, thank goodness…”

“Ryou is so strong, mama,” Amane piped up. “He’s got lots of magic, and he’s kind and nice and sweet.”

“Indeed,” Maryam nodded, “the power of kindness oftentimes carries us further than any other trait. Jenny, Amane…you should be proud of him.”

Jenny sighed, a hand pressed over her breast. “I am. Truly, I am. I was so worried how he would cope when we passed on. When he stopped trying to contact us, that was the worst, but looking at him now…” She squeezed Amane’s hand. “Looking at him now, the support he has around him, the friends he has made…I can rest easy. I’m not scared for my little boy anymore.”

The ritual was over, and Ryou drew back, exhaling a long, shaky breath. “That took longer than expected.”

“But look at the results!” Yugi crowed, clapping his hands with glee.

“Truly amazing,” Atem whispered.

Bakura looked down at his body, past the dried blood flaking off his clothes and fingers – his _brown_ fingers, leading up to brown arms and a brown neck and – well, all of Bakura’s skin had darkened to the colour of walnut wood, and his eyes brightened in contrast, becoming translucent and shimmery, like opals. Locks of jagged, steely grey hair hung over his forehead and down past his ears, just barely brushing his jawline. The wound on Bakura’s cheek had neatened, tightened, becoming the silvery scar he had been known for in the legends whispered across the ancient sands.

Bakura trembled, biting his lip, looking rather overwhelmed at the transition, but after a moment, he grinned, a burst of joyous laughter exploding from within him. “Holy fuck, Ryou! Did anyone ever tell you you’re fucking amazing?”

“Really, now,” Jenny huffed as she covered Amane’s ears.

“Oh, hush, Kura,” Ryou laughed in return. He reached for Bakura and wrapped him in a warm embrace, brushing their noses together affectionately. “You deserved this. I know it won’t heal you, but it’s a good start.”

“A good addition,” Bakura whispered. “The start came about the moment I began actually giving a damn about what you all thought of me.”

Malik rested his head on Bakura’s shoulder, sighing happily. “Oh, _habibi…_ you’re so beautiful.”

“Do I meet with your approval, Ishtar?” Bakura smirked.

Malik’s answer was to tackle him, away from Ryou and onto the carpet, before crashing their lips together in a tender, loving kiss. Their arms wound around each other, soft sounds of pleasure passing into their open mouths, past questing tongues.

“In front of everyone else as well, how inappropriate,” Jenny groaned, now covering Amane’s eyes.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Meryt laughed, “I’m bringing you along to observe this lot more often – I can assure you they’re all as bad as each other.”

“…Okay, but I’m leaving Amane in _Aaru.”_

“I wanna see!” Amane complained, tugging at her mother’s hands.

“I don’t think you do, little one,” Maryam giggled.

Malik and Bakura broke apart, smiling at each other as their fingers grazed each other’s cheeks. They were in their own little world; nothing else existed for them now. “I love you,” Malik murmured.

Bakura quirked an eyebrow at him, and took in a deep breath, held it, exhaled long and slow. He leaned up, pecking Malik once more on the lips. “You’re such a piece of work, you know that?”

“You wouldn’t have me any other way, asshole.”

“…Yeah, yeah. I love you too, you brat.”


	31. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_Well, here we go, folks. The final chapter of this story. You have all been amazing - I can't thank you enough for all the kudos, comments, and messages you've left me throughout. It's things like this that give me the drive and motivation to keep writing. Really, thank you, thank you so much._ **
> 
> ****  
>  **_Shadow-chan knocked up a super quick, unofficial Big Bang drawing when we were discussing the possibility of adding rings into the story - she did a few versions, including ponytail!Kura which of course went down a treat with me - but in the end I liked his Ancient Egypt look best, so that's what you'll find in here. Please give a big hand to Shadow-chan and Ariasune, my wonderful artists for this story, and don't forget to support their work! Links to their AO3 and Tumblr profiles can be found in Chapter 1 of this story._ **

* * *

Bakura was staring at his ring again, Malik noted with amusement.

Malik leaned against the doorway between the kitchen and living room, arms folded and mouth smirking. Bakura hadn’t noticed him; up until a minute ago, he had been typing on his laptop with the usual ridiculous speed, but now he just had his left hand resting on the keyboard, a stupid, dopey smile on his face as he looked down at the gold band Malik had never found the heart to take back. It seemed as much a part of Bakura now as the scar on his face - something that would never change.

_**Artwork by Shadow-chan93.** _   


Bakura finally cottoned onto the suspicious silence, casting a glance sideways towards Malik. "The fuck do you want, Ishtar?" he growled.

Malik laughed lightly as he pushed his glasses further up his nose. “Do you have much work left to do?”

“Hm…” Bakura turned back a moment to squint at the screen. “Nah, I can put this down for a bit. Why?” He closed the laptop and placed it carefully on the coffee table, shoving a mug and a few stacks of Monster World papers aside to make room.

Once Bakura had settled back onto the sofa, Malik pushed himself away from the doorway and hopped onto the sofa beside Bakura, giving his slim neck a brief nuzzle with his nose. “I booked us a table.”

“Huh?”

“That new restaurant in town we rode past the other week? You said the steaks had good reviews.”

“Oh yeah…” Bakura leaned back into his seat and chuckled as he slipped an arm round Malik’s shoulders to pull him down with him. “Tonight?”

“Yeah, I thought we could celebrate.”

“The fuck are we celebrating?”

A soft, pleased giggle trilled in Malik’s throat as he pulled a keyring from his pocket. “This,” he purred, dangling it in front of Bakura’s face.

Bakura’s mouth dropped open. He snatched the key from Malik’s finger, staring at it with the beautiful opalescent eyes that Malik had lost himself in countless times in the six months since the piecing together of his lover’s soul. Bakura looked up at Malik, the hint of an overjoyed smile twitching at his lips. “Is this…?”

“Yep. I put the deposit down today. All we need to do is sign the paperwork and – _mmph!”_ Malik couldn’t get the rest of his words out before Bakura tackled him into the soda cushions and kissed him fiercely. Not that he complained, of course; the close intimacy was much welcomed, and Bakura had been initiating a lot more in recent weeks, a testament to the improvement of his self-security and health. Malik sighed happily against Bakura’s parted lips and closed his eyes, running his hands through Bakura’s hair as their noses brushed and their tongues twined together.

Bakura broke the kiss after a few minutes, sitting back with the look of a man rather out of breath in his passion. “I can’t wait to leave this dump,” he grinned. “Wait till Ryou sees the game room in the new place! Oh, he is gonna be _pissed.”_

Malik sat up, rubbing the scars on his shoulder with a wince, then reached out to snag the key back, tucking it into his pocket. “I sure won’t miss this ugly-ass carpet and the lingering stench of vodka, I have to say.”

“Hey, fuck you, I’m a much more civilised drinker these days.”

“And how much have you had today?”

“Just that one glass of wine with lunch.”

Malik nodded; that was a massive improvement compared with even just a month ago. They had fought through a seemingly endless battle of Bakura being unable to tolerate the extreme withdrawal symptoms that followed cutting down on his usual vodka, but after the shaking, vomiting and delusions finally passed, he’d gone off the harsh spirit completely and found it much easier to decrease his alcohol intake. Wine proved to be a new favourite, as Malik was fond of using it in cooking.

Though the shadows of the past had finally been laid to rest, the nightmares and the guilt remained. Both Malik and Bakura knew that dealing with them would be a long-term battle for them both – which was much of the reason Malik hadn’t encouraged Bakura to stop drinking completely now he could handle it. Nary a night passed without Bakura bolting upright in bed, gasping for breath with tears dampening his cheeks, letting out the screams for his mother and sister that had lodged dead in his throat as a child…but Malik had been there for him, always, holding him close and stroking his hair and letting him cry himself exhausted. Sometimes Malik needed the same comfort, the darkness and the knife, the smell of burning flesh in the air haunting his dreams. He didn’t scream, but shook with a convulsive ferocity, and Bakura never failed to be on an instant, wakeful alert, ready to soothe his lover back into reassurance that all was well.

Looking back on it now, their relationship had been more than a full-throttle whirlwind of sex and passion – they had been the grumpy, badmouthed, absolutely fucking _perfect_ lifelines for each other before they even realised the extent of their true feelings.

Malik poked Bakura playfully in the chest. “Go take a shower and put some decent clothes on – you’ve had that t-shirt on for so long, I heard it crying for the washing machine to rescue it.”

“I swear to fucking god, Ishtar, keep complaining about my comfy clothes and I will put steak juice on your salad.”

“Okay, but good luck finding someone else who’ll suck your dick afterwards.”

“I hear Kek’s got a pretty mouth. And he likes steak, too, unlike you and your vegetable fetish.”

“Well, guess who just talked himself out of fooling around in the shower.”

Bakura jumped up and grabbed Malik’s hand, pulling him towards the bathroom. “Did I say steak juice? I meant balsamic vinaigrette. Only the best for my annoying-ass boyfriend, hm?”

Malik laughed as he allowed himself to be dragged towards a promise of heat and heaven. “I suppose you’ve earned your blowjob rights back.”

“Shit, did I just call you my boyfriend?”

“Yep, and I solemnly swear I will never let you live it down.”

“Oh, fuck you!”


End file.
